The Depths Of Love
by Taelin
Summary: Things around Bag End are about to change...how will Sam and Frodo cope? WARNINGS: Mpreg..if you don't like, don't read!
1. Default Chapter

Title: The Depths of Love (1-20 of 20)

Author: Taelin

Pairing: F/S  
Rating: PG-R (depending on chapter)  
Summary: Things around Bag End are about to change. Will Sam be able to handle things? Mostly just mindless babblings of my crazy mind.

Chapter One 

The birds sang softly outside the window on the morning of June nineteenth. Sam awoke to the sickeningly sweet scent of the mock orange bush in the garden. He loved starting the day with his nostrils filled with that scent. It had pleased him from the day he moved into Bag End. Forever would it remind him of warm summer afternoons, in the garden with his strong hands deep in the cool earth while listening to Frodo reading some elvish story.

He could have stayed forever, half sitting in bed, simply smelling the air, and enjoying the sun. But he knew he must rouse himself. Up, up, Sam Gamgee! You've work to do! What would the Gaffer think if he saw you lazing about in bed at this hour?

One last long sniff of the air, as he buttoned his weskit, and he was off into the kitchen for some tea. He walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, feeling slightly faint. For a few days now, Sam realized that he hadn't been feeling all too well, though he would never let on to Frodo. It would pass, and was probably just a touch of cold from working in the rain last week.

"Good morning, Sam." Frodo said looking up from his book with a smile.

"G'morning, Frodo, me dear" he said with a nod as he passed through the living room to the kitchen, still talking. "You let me oversleep this morning! Though I wont complain too much, as I seem to need it, as of late." Sam mused peering out the kitchen doorway.

The tea smelled wonderful, the soft, sweet smell of strawberries. Though for the first time in his life, Sam felt his stomach lurch at the thought of actually ingesting some. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so sick as to feel sick at the very thought of food. Deciding against having some tea himself, he poured a cup for Frodo.

Though, just as he entered the living room, with the cup and saucer in his hand, he felt a wave of nausea pass over him. The room seemed to spin, and grow dark. He swallowed hard, and closed his eyes. Please don't let me be sick now, not in front of Mr. Frodo! He thought to himself. Just then he heard the sound of china hitting the floor and breaking into tiny pieces.

Opening his eyes, Sam realized that he'd dropped the cup and saucer full of tea. It burned slightly on his legs and through his trousers. Frodo had come running, and was wearing a rather worried look on his face when he saw Sam leaning against the doorway.

"Are you alright, dearest?" Frodo asked his voice filled with concern. "You look ill. Come, sit down a moment!"

"I'm.. I'm alright," Sam muttered, allowing himself to be guided to a chair near the fire. It wasn't like Sam to be clumsy, least not when it came to Frodo's things. "I'm sorry I broke your cup, me dear." He stammered.

"It's alright. It's only a cup and saucer. You're sure that you're alright, though. Should I call for a Healer?" Frodo asked. He had begun to worry about Sam in the past few days. Sam seemed unusually tired, sleeping passed when Frodo woke. He also was beginning to seem rather clumsy, and now that Frodo thought of it, Sam hadn't looked well. The usual rosy glow about his cheeks had faded, and he seemed rather gray.

Sam had closed his eyes, and was breathing in long deep breaths. Hoping that this would all pass. He hated worrying Frodo, and was sure he would be fine in a moment. "No, my love, I think I'll be alright. I just felt a little light-headed, is all." Sam managed to get out between breaths. I don't need a Healer, he thought.

Feeling as though the worst had passed, he opened his eyes and looked Frodo straight in the eyes. How he loved those startling blue eyes. Always cool, and calm, like deep pools in which to lose oneself in. No matter how afraid Sam felt, one look into his lover's eyes and he could feel himself grounded once more.

"Oh dear, look at the mess I've made." Sam whispered, almost to himself as he glanced at the china pieces on the floor and the stain on the carpet. Patting Frodo's hand softly he rose from the chair to clean up the mess. Though he must have rose too quickly, as the room began to spin, and dark spots appeared in his vision. He reached out for something, anything to hold himself up. Though as the blackness took over, he felt Frodo's arms catch him before he hit the ground.

Sam woke abruptly, feeling rather ill. He was back in bed, and Frodo was by his side. Reaching out, he grabbed the basin that was placed on the nightstand for washing, and retched long and hard into it. He'd never felt so sick. It was as though he had no control over his body. Another wave of nausea, and more retching. Frodo was now sitting behind him, holding back Sam's hair with one hand and rubbing his back softly with the other.

"I've called the Healer, and he's on his way, Dearest." Frodo spoke softly as he laid Sam back against the pillows. "Why didn't you tell me that you were so ill, love?"

"I thought it would pass," Sam said feeling rather foolish now. "Besides, I didn't want to worry you."

"I've a right to worry over you now, Samwise Gamgee." Frodo scolded softly. "You gave me a terrible fright there." Just then there was a soft knock on the door. Frodo gave Sam a soft but worried look before going to let the Healer in.

"Morning, Mr. Frodo, sir." Sam could hear the Healer saying out in the corridor. "I'll go and see to him, alone, if that's alright?" To which Sam heard Frodo consent to.

There was a soft knock on the bedroom door. The Healer had left over an hour ago, but had requested that Sam be allowed to rest a while in private. His heart pounded against his chest, as Frodo entered the room. What was he to say? How was he to explain? His breath came in ragged sighs.

Frodo looked worried and scared all at the same time. He knew Sam was ill, though from the look upon Sam's face, perhaps it was worse than he'd thought. Sam was usually so strong, so solid. It pained Frodo to see him seem so weak and weary. He watched as a single tear slid down Sam's cheek.

"Sam, is the news that bad?" Frodo asked. His head swam with possibilities of what could be ailing his lover. None of them good.

Taking a deep breath and wiping the tear from his cheek, Sam shook his head. "No, not really bad news, just surprising, if you get my meaning." He took a deep breath and motioned for Frodo to come to him. Taking Frodo's hand, he placed it on his stomach, and with disbelief in his voice he managed to choke out, "We're going to have a baby." Sam then broke into tears.


	2. 2

Frodo sighed audibly, releasing some of the tension that had risen inside him. Lowering his eyes, from where they'd held Sam's soft, brown, tear- stained gaze, his gaze fell to where his hand now rested upon his lovers belly. I'm going to be a father he thought to himself as a slow smile began to grow upon his lips. He had always felt badly for what Sam had given up for their love. Frodo had always known that Sam had been meant to have children, and now, here under his very hand grew their future. A child of perfect love.

When his eyes finally met Sam's gaze once more, he found that he, too, had begun to cry, though not tears of fear, but those of joy! Taking Sam's face in both his hands, he kissed the warm brow. "I know you're not one to joke about something like this, dear heart, and I cannot put into words the joy that I feel for this news!"

Smiling, he crawled onto the bed beside Sam. "Tell me, please, when did this happen?" Frodo held Sam's hand tightly between his own, as if to give his lover a sense of the excitement that was now growing inside him.

"About seven weeks ago, give or take." Sam sighed, relieved that Frodo had not run halfway to Bree with fear. Maybe everything would turn out all right after all, he thought to himself. Feeling very tired, Sam lay back in Frodo's arms, and fell into a peaceful sleep.

Later that night, Frodo found he couldn't sleep. There were too many thoughts running through his head. Though he knew that Sam was meant to be a parent someday, was he? Closing his eyes, Frodo tried to clear his head, though when that didn't help, he knew there would be no sleep for him.

How were they to explain this to others? The Healer had looked pale, and sick himself as he'd left. It had seemed that he could not leave quick enough. As if Sam's ailment had been some sort of contagious virus. Would everyone come to think of his dearest Sam as a freak? Unnatural? Frodo knew that's what Sam's condition was, unnatural, but somehow, some way, it was truth.

Frodo lay back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. Listening to Sam's peaceful breathing in sleep, he let his mind wander. Images of his own childhood flashed before his mind's eye. Orphaned. Shunned. Ignored. He vowed never to let that happen to his child. After all, he wasn't going anywhere and neither was Sam. Sam.

A dreadful thought came to him, and he found himself whispering as he looked at the sleeping form in the bed next to him.

"How in Middle Earth shall he birth this child?" he asked the quiet darkness of their bedroom. How, indeed. Females were the ones to bring children into the world. How then had his gentle Samwise come to be with child?

Frodo imagined a small hobbit child. Slight of frame, like himself. With Sam's golden curls and warm smile. He imagined the child running through the rooms of Bag End, searching for the parent he or she had never met.

Feeling tears springing to his eyes, Frodo refused to think more on the subject. It was a silly though. Sam was healthy, and he was strong. There was no reason why his condition might threaten his life. Right? Even the birth would go smoothly, Frodo tried to reassure himself.

Suddenly feeling the need to be close to Sam, he crawled across the bed, and laying his head against Sam's chest, he listened to the heartbeat there. So strong. He wouldn't allow himself to think of that rhythm ever fading to a halt.

"Well, little one," he whispered. Speaking to Sam's flat stomach. "I wonder if you can hear me?" With a little laugh, he added, "I find myself wonder many things at the moment, actually." He slid his hand over Sam's belly, trying to imagine what it would feel like in a few months time.

Frodo closed his eyes and tried to imagine what his beloved might look like heavy with child. He wondered what it would feel like to feel their child moving beneath Sam's skin. With a small smile on his face, Frodo finally fell asleep, his head on Sam's chest, and his hand protectively over their unborn child.

"Breathe, Sam! Just breathe." Frodo pleaded, watching the green flush run over Sam's face.

"Breathe, he says! And after springing something like this on me!" Sam spoke with his back to Frodo before leaning over the chamber pot and heaving up everything contained in his stomach.

"I did not mean to upset you, dear heart. I only think your Gaffer has a right to know. We will have to tell him eventually. He is not as simple as people give him credit for." Frodo reasoned, trying to calm Sam by rubbing his back softly.

"Frodo, you could have at least given me some time to accept this meself! I've no idea what to tell my Gaffer! How do I explain to him how this could happen?" Sam was so upset he could feel his body tensing once more, threatening to vomit again.

"It's only dinner, Sam, dearest. I suppose we could wait to tell him for a few more weeks, if that would make you feel better."

"A few weeks wont make no difference, love." Sam sighed, leaning back into Frodo's embrace. "He'll still be dreadfully mad. What's he to think of his youngest son trying to explain to him that he's with child?"

Sam could just see the look upon his fathers face, and knew the words that would come from his mouth. He could just hear his Gaffer exclaiming that this condition was due punishment for his running off with Frodo on some blasted adventure. Sam had learned months ago, that his Gaffer would just never be able to grasp the things that Frodo and he had gone through on their quest. He wished his mother were still alive. She, at least, would've understood his need to follow his then master.

He tried to stand up. Pacing always made him feel better when he had to think of something serious. The room spun and he felt lightheaded and was forced to sit down on the bed once more.

Sam tried to accept the inevitable. His Gaffer was coming for dinner that night, and he would have to tell him everything.


	3. 3

The crashing sounds coming from the kitchen were beginning to worry Frodo, though he knew better than to offer his help. Whenever Sam was upset he seemed to cook, cook for what seemed like a family of twelve or more hobbits. Sometimes Frodo wondered if he would actually reach proper hobbit weight after a period of Sam's distress.

The smells of the dinner cooking flowed from the kitchen almost with fingers to caress ones face. Frodo knew that Sam was preparing every one of his Gaffers favorite dishes. They both had hopes that it might soften the blow of the news they had to tell him.

Frodo shuddered to think of the fight they had had earlier that day, when he had told Sam about his dinner invitation. He thought he understood how Sam felt, and was almost glad he wasn't in that position.

Another clatter of pots and some well-chosen curses came from the kitchen. Wondering if he should chance walking around the corner to where Sam was working, Frodo listened for any sign he was needed. He had tried not to listen to Sam's muttering all day. Reading books, attempting to write a letter to his cousins, anything to keep his mind occupied and give Sam his space.

In all the years that he had known Sam, he had never seen him this upset. At first he was worried that he'd done some horrible wrong. Then it occurred to him that perhaps Sam was overreacting slightly, due to his fragile condition.

Frodo looked out the window. It was almost dinnertime, and the Gaffer would be arriving soon. He could tell that Sam knew this as well, as the sounds from the kitchen seemed to become more rushed and urgent. Frodo was about to put his book down and offer to help set the table, when he heard soft crying coming from the kitchen. With his heart aching, he went to see what was wrong.

"Sam?" he ventured cautiously.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier, Frodo." Sam sobbed from his seat on the floor before the kitchen fire. His eyes red from crying for what seemed like a long time.

"Hush now, it's alright." Frodo comforted. "No harm done. I should have asked you before inviting your Gaffer like that. I was wrong, and I'm sorry for it." He laid his hands on Sam's shoulders, squeezing softly.

Sam looked up at him, wiping tears from his face. Frodo offered his hand, which Sam took, pulling himself to his feet. Embracing Frodo, Sam could feel the hot sting of tears threatening him once more.

"I just don't know why I'm crying so much. I don't rightly know why I was so angry with you either. I s'pose it's just that I feel so awful, I'm so hungry and yet the thought of food turns my stomach." Sam sniffed. "I don't think I'll be very good company tonight, I'm afraid. Especially not whilst I have this pit in my stomach over telling my Gaffer."

Frodo nodded in understanding. "Shall I help you set the table, love?" he asked softly, pulling back to look at Sam. "Then again, perhaps I might do it myself, and you, my dear, should go and freshen up! Do you really want to greet your Gaffer with food and grease spattered up your front?" Frodo joked.

Looking down at himself, Sam couldn't help but smile. "I s'pose you're right, me dear. I'll be quick." Frodo watched Sam march off into the bedroom, and released a loud sigh of relief.

All day he had felt as though he were walking on eggshells around Sam. The slightest little thing seeming to anger his lover. He knew that it was probably just hormones or some such, pregnant women seemed to be rather moody, so why wouldn't Sam? He just hoped that the evening would go well, not sure he could handle two cranky Gamgee's in the same room.

A soft knock on the door broke him from his musings. The Gaffer was early! Swallowing hard, Frodo straightened his weskit and went to the door.

"'Evenin' Mr. Frodo, sir." The Gaffer nodded when the door opened.

"Good Evening, Mr. Gamgee. Please! Come in." Frodo waved his hand towards the living room. "Sam'll be out in a minute, I'm sure."

Frodo sent up a silent prayer as the Gaffer passed him. He could tell that the old hobbit was already suspicious about why he was there. After all, he didn't quite approve of his youngest son living with another bachelor, alone. It just wasn't right, and he made a point of letting everyone know it.

"Da'!" Sam exclaimed, surprised to enter the living room to find his father already there. "I didn't hear you come in. Can I get you some tea? Port?"

"Tea, Samwise."

Sam rushed off into the kitchen, flashing a pleading look at Frodo as he passed. Excusing himself, Frodo joined Sam in the kitchen.

"He knows somethin's up, Frodo. Oh, this isn't going to go well, is it?" Sam closed his eyes in an effort to regain his composure. He hated letting his father down, and he knew tonight was going to be the worst of it. All day he'd been attempting to rehearse what he would say, and how he would explain. The only problem was that it was as much a mystery to him as it was sure to be to his Gaffer.

Taking the cup of tea out to his father, Sam tried to act as normal as possible.

"Here's your tea, Da'. I'll just go set out dinner and then we can eat."

Dinner had gone well. The conversation had stayed light, never straying to anything too upsetting. Mostly gossip about the neighbors on BagShot Row. Though as the meal came to a close, Sam could feel himself beginning to tense, knowing that soon he would have to tell his father why he was really here. But his father beat him to it. Before the dishes were cleared away Sam was startled to hear his father ask the question he wished would never come up.

"Alright, lads. Why is that I'm here? Samwise, are you sick? I noticed you've not touched your dinner, tha's not like you, lad." The Gaffer asked gruffly.

Sam could feel himself begin to sweat. He actually thought about lying to his father, something he'd never done in his life. How was he to tell his father that he was with child? He looked to Frodo, who seemed to be slightly paler than usual, for support. At least he wasn't the only one who was nervous at the table. He could feel his Gaffer's eyes upon him, burning into him as if they were branding irons.

"No Da', I'm not sick. Well, not really anyways." Sam was able to choke out. This was going to be harder than he'd thought. He could see the confusion on his father's face, and knew he would just have to jump in.

"Frodo and I asked you here tonight, because we've something to tell you, sir." Sam could feel his stomach lurch, and hoped he would not be sick right now. He was about to continue when the Gaffer cut him off.

"If it's about you two, I know already. Half the Shire knows! Honestly, Samwise! I'd hoped better for you, no offence to Mr. Frodo, here, of course." He nodded towards Frodo. "It's just I thought you might marry a nice lass, someday. That nice Cotton lass who's had her eye on you, mayhap?"

Sam could feel his heart drop. Not only was he some unnatural being, but he was also a disappointment. This was not going well at all. Squeezing Frodo's hand under the table, he jumped in with both feet.

"Da', it's true that Frodo and I are . together." He took a deep breath. "But there's more to it than that. I haven't been feeling quite well for a couple a days now. Yesterday the Healer came to see me." Sam paused, not sure he was truly ready to do this.

The Gaffer seemed interested suddenly. Had his youngest fallen ill? "And?? Spit it out, lad!"

"I'm pregnant, Da'." There. It was out there. He'd done it! Feeling relief wash over him, Sam was unprepared for what happened next.

"Pregnant?!? My dear Samwise! At your age? Believing such things? My! Mr. Frodo, what have you been filling my boy's head with? Only lasses can be pregnant, son, you know that." The Gaffer said, laughing in disbelief.

Feeling near tears, Sam continued. "I know. But the Healer confirmed it, yesterday. Frodo and I are to be parents sometime in January, Da'."

Frodo could see the anger rising in the Gaffer's face. This was about to turn to a yelling match, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Though he was going to try.

"It is the truth, Mr. Gamgee. I can even give you the name of the Healer, if you wish to confirm it yourself. We know not how it has come about, but we ask your blessing, Sir." Frodo used the most diplomatic voice he could muster.

The Gaffer was furious. "What are you two trying to pull? He's a lad he can't get pregnant! Who was the crackpot who tol' you both this? I bet twas that ol' wizard, Gandalf, or whatever. Next time I see him."

"No, Da'! I'm really pregnant! Why can't you just believe me? I'm not a child no more. I've been and done more things than you'll ever do, and you still insist on treating me as a love-sick tweenager!" Sam bellowed, crying.

"If you don't believe me, tha's fine! I don't need you. You can let yourself out!" Sam cried and ran from the room, leaving Frodo and his dumbstruck father sitting at the table in silence.


	4. 4

The air was crisp and cool on the morning of September twenty second. There was a refreshing breeze blowing through the Shire, and the air was laced with the sweet smell of wood smoke. Sam awoke early that morning, knowing he wanted to make everything just right before Frodo woke, himself. Frodo had planned his annual birthday party for himself and Bilbo, and the day was sure to be splendid.

Stumbling out into the kitchen, Sam stoked the fire and put on some tea. He wasn't used to getting up so early anymore, as sleep seemed to be a much- needed commodity lately. He felt large and cumbersome as he placed the last log on the fire. Even his once roomy nightshirts were feeling rather tight now, and a dull ache had begun in his lower back.

Turning his attentions to the table, he busied himself making breakfast, with a mind to bring it to Frodo, in bed this morning. Sam wanted everything this day to be absolutely perfect, and if he had to work extra hard today in order to achieve that goal, he was going to.

The fire felt warm and comforting against his back, as he set to the task of cutting up some mushrooms before putting them in the pan. He planned to make all of Frodo's favorites this morning, even if he had to vomit several times in the process.

Mornings were still rough for Sam, and already he could feel his stomach begin to protest at the smell of the mushrooms and eggs and toast cooking. Smoothing his hand over his ever-growing belly, he spoke softly almost in a whisper. "Today's a big day, little one. I don't rightly have time to be sick all morning. There are things to be done. This is Frodo's birthday, and I've a right mind to make it perfect for him."

The burning taste of bile rose quickly in his throat, as if in answer. Sam closed his eyes, breathed in slowly and exhaled, then set his teeth and went back to the work of preparing the days first meal.

When everything was near to finished, Sam trudged out into the garden. The fresh air felt good, and his stomach began to calm almost instantly. Grateful for the small break from being nauseous, Sam knelt, with some difficulty, and cut the most perfect rose he could find. He stood up and held the flower to his nose for a moment, enjoying the moment of peace. His hand absently slid over his belly, and he sighed happily. Today was going to be just perfect he could feel it.

Going back inside, he lay the rose on a small tray and set the dishes of food around it. He felt slightly weak as he lifted the tray to carry into the bedroom, though he paid no attention. It had been weeks since he'd felt as strong as he used to. Walking slowly, careful not to spill a single drop of the tea, he made his way to the bedroom and set the tray on the little bedside table.

Frodo was still in bed, curled tightly under the blankets. Sam loved being able to wake his love, and leaning down he gently pulled the covers down to reveal the pale face he so loved. He kissed each of Frodo's closed eyes softly, to which he got a soft, sleepy moan in return. Lifting Frodo's hand, he kissed the palm ever so softly, then turned it over and kissed the knuckles. This elicited a smile from the sleeping form in the bed.

Gently laying the hand down, Sam went to the window and pulled back the curtains to let in the warm September sun. Frodo's eyes fluttered beneath their dark lashes, and finally slide open sleepily. A smile spread across his face at the sight of Sam by the window.

"Morning, my love." Frodo said sleepily, as he sat himself up in bed. "What time is it?"

"Nine o'clock. I let you sleep, seeing as you looked so very peaceful." Sam said with a chuckle as he laid the tray on Frodo's lap.

"My! You need not have gone to so much trouble, Samwise!" Frodo said with surprise as he gazed on the meal set before him, feeling hungrier than he'd originally thought.

"T'was no trouble at all, besides, it's your birthday. You're due for a little pampering, if you follow me."

"Come, join me, then." Frodo patted the bed beside him, hoping that Sam might crawl back into bed and they might spend a lazy morning together. Sam obeyed, and sat against the pillows with a light sigh of relief. He hadn't realized just how tired he actually was, until he had sat down. Yawning, Sam closed his eyes and listened to Frodo enjoying his meal.

The light outside the window was bright when Sam finally woke. He looked around the room, which was empty. Frodo seemed to have gotten up and cleaned the dishes from breakfast, tidied the bed, and tucked a light blanket over Sam while he slept.

Feeling a little annoyed at himself for dozing off like that, Sam slid his feet off the bed and pulled himself up to his feet. There was still work to do, and though he felt more rested, he knew that if he sat in bed any longer sleep would take him once more.

Dressing quickly, he padded out into the living room, searching for signs of Frodo. The fire had been stoked, but everything was as it had been earlier that morning. Except for a small white note set beside the chair Sam usually rested in. With a smile he sat and opened the letter.

Dearest Sam,

I'm sorry to not be here when you wake, but I had to take care of some party business. I shall be home before tea. Please don't push yourself too hard, love.

Frodo

Sam held the note to his chest and closed his eyes. He felt slightly relieved to know that he had a few hours in which to get everything done, before Frodo returned. But there was so much to be done still!

He rose from the chair and went into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. The fire that had been happily burning was now dwindling down to a few dark embers. Sam remembered that he'd used the last log earlier that morning, and knew he'd have to bring in some wood to keep the fire going.

Outside, the sun was very warm for an afternoon in late September. Sometime over the morning the breeze that had been so welcome that morning had died away. Sam could feel himself begin to sweat as he walked slowly out to the woodshed. The babe within his belly began to turn cartwheels, and Sam felt as though he might be sick once more. He paused by the garden bench, to catch his breath, and then continued on.

Sam knew he shouldn't be carrying such a large load of wood in his condition. It was heavy, and his back ached all the more because of it. He moved slowly, feeling slightly lightheaded at the exertion.

By the time he had reached the doorway, he was so out of breath his lungs burned. He leaned his moist forehead against the cool wooden doorway, and closed his eyes hard. His head was swimming and he could see small dark spots in his vision. Panting hard, he began again to consciously move his feet. Right then left. The kitchen seemed so far away, and the corridor seemed to grow longer as he went. His arms were numb, and his legs shook with the effort. The room began to spin.

Sam felt his legs give out, but he was powerless to stop it. He was plunging down, down, down a dark tunnel. He heard himself cry out, and threw his hands out to try to right himself. Then all was darkness.


	5. 5

The door to Bag End stood open, though there were no lights on inside. The usual lofty smoke curl from the chimney had long since died away, and the rooms were growing cold. Sam swallowed hard, his throat felt very dry. His head pounded, and he felt bruised and stiff. Forcing his eyes to open, he glanced around the room.

He was lying in the midst of the load of wood he'd been carrying. Some under him, some over him. The memory of how he came to be on the floor in such a predicament started to come back to him. Moving his outer limbs, he began to take stock of all his possible and probable injuries.

Pulling himself up to a sitting position, he looked out the window. By the position of the sun, he'd been unconscious for hours. It was almost teatime, and Frodo would be coming home any minute.

Resting his head in his palm, Sam sighed heavily. He felt alright other than the dull throb in his head, and the bruises he was sure were popping up all over his body. Blinking a few times to clear his vision, he began to muster the strength to get up to his feet.

Once standing, he felt slightly dizzy still, and knew he couldn't and shouldn't handle carrying the full load the rest of the way to the kitchen. Picking up only a few logs at a time, he made several trips, but was able to fill the box by the hearth.

Kneeling was hard for him to do, but he did it nonetheless. As he began to build up the fire, he could hear voices getting louder as they came up the walk. Frodo was home, and he'd brought his cousin, Merry, with him.

Sam stood, a little quicker than he'd expected and swayed on his feet, having to steady himself using the kitchen table. Smoothing his hair, and hoping he didn't look any worse the wear after his blackout, Sam went to greet Frodo at the door.

Opening the door, he flashed Frodo the most charming smile he could muster. There was no need to worry his lover over his little...incident. Especially not on his birthday. The one day of the year, that should be absolutely perfect. Sam had no intention of ruining things, nor of taking any of the attention away from his partner tonight.

"Sam! You're bleeding!" Frodo exclaimed worriedly, as he reached to touch the small wound on Sam's brow.

Oh! I should have checked to make sure I had no visible injuries! Sam thought to himself. "I must've bumped me head as I was putting wood on the fire. I'm alright, don't you worry." He nodded. Frodo visibly relaxed, and embraced Sam warmly.

"I'm glad," he said, "I don't think I could bare to not have you there by my side tonight, dearest! You're sure you're all right?"

Sam nodded. "Hullo Merry." He added, remembering Frodo's cousin, who had been standing quietly by.

"Hullo Sam." Merry replied with a nod. Glancing visibly at Sam's swollen belly. "I shall have to remember to keep the deserts away from you tonight, I should think!" he added, patting Sam stomach as he passed by. Sam made a face as a wave of nausea washed over him once more.

"You alright there, Sam?" Merry asked.

"'Course I am. Just not feeling quite well today, if you'll pardon me." Frodo looked at him with a little concern showing on his face, but Sam continued. "Look at my manners! Can I offer you some tea? Something to eat? You two must be hungry after such a long day full of planning." Sam quickly changed the subject.

"Tea sounds wonderful." Frodo interjected with a smile, and headed towards the kitchen.

The rest of the afternoon passed rather quickly, and before he knew it, Sam was down in the party field following Frodo around to greet people. His head was still throbbing, and a dull pain had begun in his back apart from the usual ache that resided there. Longing to just be able to sit down and put his feet up, Sam dutifully stood at Frodo's side, and shook hands with people as they arrived.

After over an hour of greeting people and standing in one spot, Sam was finally able to excuse himself and take his seat. Never before had a small wooden chair felt so very comfortable, than it had that night. His legs throbbed with the memory of having to support his weight for so long, and the pain in his back had begun to worsen.

Not feeling very hungry, Sam picked his way through dinner, pushing the food around his plate idly and hoping no one would notice his lack of appetite. The speeches were to begin soon, and he knew that after that he wouldn't be missed if he trudged back to Bag End, and his soft, warm bed.

Frodo lay his slender hand upon Sam's shoulder while the speeches were taking place. This little gesture caused a chain reaction within Sam. It was more comforting than he ever thought possible. Frodo smiled at him, but then his face changed to that of worry. He looked Sam over, his eyes coming to rest on Sam's large belly.

"Are you okay?" Frodo mouthed, so as not to draw attentions to them. He leaned closer and whispered to Sam. "You look very pale, are you feeling alright? I noticed you hardly touched your dinner. Perhaps I should take you home to bed?"

Sam was about to reassure him that he was feeling alright, albeit a little tired, when the dull pain, that had rested in his back since his fall that morning, suddenly shot down his thighs and gripped him around his middle. The pain was sharp and searing, like a sword heated in flame. He bit his lip and closed his eyes tight in an effort not to cry out. Never before had he felt such pain.

The pain only lasted a minute or so, then slowly diminished and Sam opened his eyes to find that Frodo had turned towards him, and was wearing an expression of pure fear upon his face. Frodo reached out and laid his hand on Sam's stomach, under the table, and looked into Sam's face imploringly. Feeling sick once more, Sam swallowed it down, determined not to ruin Frodo's night. He patted Frodo's hand softly in reassurance and mustered a smile as if to say I'm alright.

There was a raucous cheer, as people toasted Frodo. Sam smiled to see people finally giving his lover the respect he'd always thought they should. Though the pain he'd felt only minutes before gripped him again. Searing hot and shooting all through his belly. Fear gripped him suddenly. A pain like that once can be ignored, more than once could mean something wrong. His mind went back to his fall earlier that day, and his heart dropped. What if something happens to the baby? It is too early for the child to be born, it would surely die!

The noise of the crowd seemed to fade in his ears, for all he could hear was the thundering of his racing heart. He felt flushed and too warm all of a sudden. Then it hit again, the same pain as before. Though this time it was worse.

No longer did he entertain the idea of not disturbing Frodo. He turned to the father of his child, who had not taken his eyes from Sam. He was about to open his mouth to suggest that maybe he really should go home to bed, when another wave of pain hit him. He let out a low groan unknowingly, and Frodo was on his feet and waving for the Healer.

The next few moments were a blur to Sam. He couldn't concentrate, and things seemed to be spiraling out of his control. Had he no control over his own body? He willed the pain to stop, but was only doubled over with it seemingly twice as bad as before. The Healer was asking him questions to which he should have known the answers. His head hurt far too much to think, and his body began to shake in anticipation of the next wave of pain.

What's happening to me!

It took the Healer, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin to half carry Sam back to Bag End, where they put him in bed. The Healer then shooed everyone but Frodo out of the room in order to examine Sam.

Sam lay on the bed, trying only to catch his breath and swallow some of the fear that had gripped his soul. This is it he thought this is how it all will end. I'm going to lose this baby right here, and there will be no hope to save it! He could feel the tears spring to his eyes, as he looked at the worry written all over the faces of those in the room. He felt sick to his stomach. Things were happening far too quickly. One moment seemed to be blending into the next relentlessly. He heard a gasp of horror escape Frodo's lips as he rolled to his side at the request of the healer.

"He's bleeding! You must do something! You must!" Frodo pleaded.

Sam's head swam, and panic gripped his heart. He couldn't believe this was happening. He had been fine for hours, why now? People were rushing around him; someone was holding a cup to his lips. Drink The liquid was hot, and burned on the way down. He choked halfway through, and thought every drop might come right up again. The cup was put to his lips again. Promises that he would feel better, reassurances. Someone stroked his hair softly. Pain. Searing pain. Hotter than before and closing in around him. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against a cry. Tears running down his face, hot and salty.

The last thing he could remember was the look of fear and dread in Frodo's eyes. Only once before had he seen that look...


	6. 6

The room was dark and silent as Sam's eyes fluttered and then opened. Feeling very disoriented, he looked around. Frodo seemed to be asleep in the chair by the fire, and Sam smiled before the full force of his memory of what had happened hit him. Panicked, he sat up and slid both his hands beneath him to feel for a warm, sticky substance he was afraid to find there.

Pulling his hands out, only to find they were dry and free of blood, Sam sighed with relief. He felt better. His head was beginning to clear, and from the large round bump under the blankets, he reassured himself that the baby was still where it was supposed to be. There was no pain anymore, besides the ache in his back, which he had become accustomed to over the last few weeks.

Reaching over to the bedside table, he lit the small candle there to throw some light to see by. Frodo woke with a start and jumped to his feet as the light spread through the room. His eyes cleared from their sleepy blur and fell on Sam. His face softened and he crossed the room in what seemed to be only two steps, though it was more like ten.

"How do you feel?" he demanded softly, resting his palm on Sam's swollen belly reassuringly.

Sam swallowed, not sure his dry throat would let him speak. ".... Better...no pain...water?" he was able to stutter out. Frodo visibly relaxed after this. Nodding, he poured a small glass of water and handed it to Sam, never taking his crystal blue eyes from him.

Sam drank the cool water in large gulps. It felt very good going down, and seemed to rush down his chest like an icy waterfall. He felt his stomach lurch slightly as the water hit it, but he knew it would stay within him. Grateful for the drink, he lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes. Sleep and tiredness seemed to wash over him. His body feeling numb from the adrenaline rush he'd suffered only a few hours before.

"Stay?" he whispered in plea to Frodo.

His only response was the feeling of Frodo climbing onto the bed, and sliding his arm behind Sam's shoulders. Cradling him as he'd done for Frodo so many times before. Frodo began to hum softly, singing one of the songs Sam remembered most from his childhood. He loved to hear Frodo sing, and relaxed instantly. Laying his head against Frodo's chest, he slowly drifted off into a deep sleep feeling warm, protected and sheltered in his love's arms.

Morning broke the following morning, bright and cool. The birds were singing softly outside the window, and the sun was trying it's best to burst through the closed curtains. Sam woke slowly, still feeling very drained and tired. He was alone in the room, and started to wonder where Frodo had gone, when there was a soft knock at the door.

Looking up, he saw that Frodo was standing there, a slight smile on his face.

"You're up!" he said, genuinely pleased. "I'm glad. How do you feel this morning, dear heart?" Sam swallowed, he hadn't really been awake long enough to take stock of how he was feeling.

"Good, I think." Remembering the events of the night before, his face suddenly became dark. "Oh, Frodo! I'm so sorry to have ruined your birthday. It was never my meaning...." He was cut off by Frodo's fingertips touching his lips.

"Hush. That doesn't matter. All that matters now is that you and our child are well." He smiled, and placed his hand on Sam's abdomen. "Oh goodness! That reminds me, the Healer said he would come by this morning to check on you. I'm just thankful we were able to stop those pains before something terrible happened."

"Me too." Sam stated plainly, shutting his eyes remembering the fear of the previous night. Then remembering suddenly that there had been others in the smail last night besides the Healer, Frodo and himself, he felt compelled to ask. "Merry and Pippin? Oh! I must have given them such a fright last night also."

Frodo shook his head and began to softly stroke Sam's stomach. "Don't you worry about them, love. They're fine, and I filled them in last night after you fell off to sleep. I was forced to tell them everything though, dearest. I know you didn't really want others to know of your condition, but after last night we will have to come up with some explanation."

Just then there was another very soft knock at the door, and Pippin stuck his head around the corner, a smile growing on his face to see that he wasn't really interrupting anything.

"The Healer has just arrived, shall I show him in?" Both Frodo and Sam nodded.

Sam could hear the pleasantries exchanged in the hallway before the Healer stepped into the room, and nodded in greeting to them both.

"Well, Samwise, you gave us quite a scare last night! How do you feel? Any pain?" the Healer asked walking to the bed. "No? Very good. The herbs must be working. I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to remain in bed until I can be certain that your pains will not return until their proper time."

Sam nodded, feeling the hot sting of tears beginning. He would not cry. He had brought this on himself, he had, pushing himself too far yesterday. Things could have ended far worse, and he knew it was his own fault. Not only had he ruined Frodo's birthday, but he had endangered the live of their unborn child, and himself in the process.

Laying his head against Frodo's shoulder he felt himself sigh in defeat. He couldn't afford to be so stubborn anymore. From now on he would have to listen to his body, he would have to take things easy. Sam looked up into Frodo's face and finally gazed into his eyes.

Relief and love was all he saw there.


	7. 7

"Oh bother!" Sam whispered to himself as he rolled over for what felt like the three thousandth time that afternoon. He was beginning to find it very hard to get comfortable after three days of the strictest bed rest. Earlier that very day, he had had to talk Frodo into letting him walk down the hallway just to use the washroom.

After so long just lying in bed had begun to hurt. It had been three days since Sam's collapse, and already the boredom of his predicament was starting to set in. His mind was forever wandering to thoughts of going out in the garden. He missed being outside with the sun shining on his shoulders, grass beneath his feet.

He looked around the room. There were piles upon piles of books, set close to the bed, so he wouldn't have to get up. There was parchment and a quill with ink, should he feel like writing anything. Flowers on the windowsill and a large pitcher of water on the nightstand. Anything he could have wanted was there, and yet Sam still felt himself getting restless. How much longer would he have to endure this?

With a heavy sigh, he pulled up his nightshirt, exposing his swollen belly. It had finally come to this. Staring intently, watching for any movement at all, he was startled when Frodo came into the room carrying a tray for tea.

"Anything?" Frodo asked with a smile when he saw what Sam was doing.

"No. I weren't meant for such rest, Frodo. It's beginning to drive me mad, I think. I feel better, honest I do. I just need to get out of here, even if only to sit in the garden a while. I feel as though these walls are starting to close in on me." He pleaded, knowing the answers already.

"I know, Sam, and if there were some way we could ensure the safety of the baby and yourself, I would grant your wish in an instant." Frodo said with a sad smile and sat on the edge of the bed. He hated seeing Sam feeling so down. It broke his heart to see the glow that had once been so bright around Sam beginning to fade into despair.

Sam hung his head and covered his eyes, feeling the hot burn of tears begin. Didn't Frodo understand that this was killing him? He cried softly into his hands until he felt Frodo's arms around him. With that, he lost control and gave in to deep wracking sobs. Thinking hard, Frodo grasped for something that would make his love stop hurting so much. Anything.

"Perhaps I could talk to the Healer tonight, love. Maybe he could come and examine you once more, to see if you were able to come for a.... picnic?" Frodo asked while softly stroking Sam's golden curls.

"Could we really?" Sam looked up with his tear stained face, a hopeful look residing there.

Frodo smiled. "Yes, dearest, I will ask for the Healer tonight, and should he pronounce that you are well enough, we will go tomorrow morning. How does that sound?"

Sam closed his eyes and rested against Frodo. "Thank you."

The Healer had come that night, and examined Sam thoroughly. Finding that the baby was faring well, and Sam had promised to take it easy, and to be extra careful, he had permitted the bed rest command to be lifted.

"I still don't like the idea of you riding out into the wilds somewhere, just be careful. Should your pains begin again, I am not sure I would be able to stop them!" The Healer had warned.

Both Frodo and Sam vowed to be careful. They would take a small cart, so Sam wouldn't have to walk anywhere. Neither had any intentions of doing anything that could possibly harm the baby. Sam could feel the excitement and anticipation building within him. He would finally be able to leave Bag End again, and alone with Frodo. Oh! The possibilities!

With thoughts of all they might do the next morn rushing around in his head, Sam lay back and closed his eyes. He began to think of all the things they could pack, and how nice it would feel to lie in the grass, cuddled close to Frodo. Dreamily he thought of listening to Frodo reading with the sun beating down on them, as they had done so many times before.

The cart ride was less comfortable than Sam had remembered it ever being before. The constant bumping was causing him to feel rather ill, and when they reached the small pond and finally stopped, Sam was more than relieved. It was truly beautiful here, and worth the discomfort to come.

The water sparkled with the sun's hot rays, and was smooth as glass. There was a large willow tree at one end, with branches bending so low they touched the water. Daisies and buttercups grew on the gentle sloping banks, and Sam smiled to see them dance in the gentle breeze.

They lay out their meal under the shade of the willow, and ate happily to their fill. It had been a long time since Sam had been able to pull Frodo away from business in Hobbiton, and he meant to make the most of it. He loved the way that the sun lit up his partners dark curls and glistened in his eyes.

He watched Frodo, bathed in the dappled sunlight that came through the boughs. He felt a longing stir within him, a longing that had laid quiet for a long time. How could he think such thoughts? He had promised to take things easy, not to exert himself in any way, and here he was thinking such impure thoughts about Frodo.

Sam forced his gaze away, and released a frustrated sigh. He was being forced to give up so much for this child, but it would all be worth it in the end, wouldn't it? Humming softly to himself, he lay back against a large root and closed his eyes.

Concentrating on the sound of his own voice, and the feeling of his hands over his stomach, Sam had almost lost track of where he was. The sun felt good as it warmed his legs, and he found himself beginning to wish he had brought his pipe with him. To be able to spend a lazy afternoon beneath the shade of the willow, and enjoy the taste of fine pipeweed would have simply been blissful. He thought of afternoons long ago, when he and Frodo had been young.

The sound of a large splash pulled him from his daydreams.


	8. 8

Sam snapped his eyes open and looked around quickly. What could have made such a splash? Surely they were alone, out here. He was ready to jump to his feet though unsure where he might find the strength to protect himself or Frodo.

Frodo! Where was he? Just as panic began to grip him once more, Sam noticed the small pile of clothes thrown carelessly on the bank.

Sam searched the softly rippling surface of the pond for the first signs of Frodo. He gasped softly when, as if in slow motion, Frodo rose from the surface. His hair falling in messy curls with beads of water dripping from the ends. Sam watched as Frodo put his feet beneath him to stand. He watched the water droplets roll casually over his lover's body.

Frodo now stood, the water only coming to his waist, and shook his head, spraying water from his unruly curls. Running a hand through his hair, Frodo smiled to see Sam watching him. His soft lips parted ever so slightly as he tried to regain his breathing.

Sam felt a shiver of pleasure run through his body, causing every hair to stand on end. He wanted Frodo. He wanted him so badly it actually hurt. He longed to feel their bodies so close they felt as one.

"Come on, Sam! The water's wonderful!" Frodo smiled, reminding Sam of the carefree tweenager he remembered.

Smiling, he began to unbutton his weskit. It was such a joy to watch Frodo splashing around out in the pond. Too long had he watched Frodo seem so sad. Removing his weskit and beginning on his shirt, he stood feeling his legs slightly unsteady after so many days of lying in bed.

The water felt cool and refreshing as Sam lowered his feet into the shallows. He walked out confidently to where Frodo stood. Though he couldn't swim, he trusted that Frodo would not let anything happen to him. The deeper they went, the more the pain in Sam's back lessened. It was a wonderful feeling, to be surrounded by the cool water, calm and supportive.

When they were deep enough for the water to be to their chests, Frodo beckoned Sam to come closer to him. He wrapped his arms around Sam's chest and embraced him tightly allowing his soft pale hands to slide over Sam's back. Sam laid his head against Frodo's shoulder and sighed softly. He wanted more, so very much more, but could they risk it? Could they trade a moment's intimacy for the health of their baby?

He felt Frodo's hand grasp his chin lightly, guiding his head up to a loving kiss. Sam could feel his lust beginning to grow, but he knew he couldn't give in. Not now. He pulled away from Frodo, feeling tears of frustration in his eyes.

"Sam," Frodo said almost in a whisper, his large blue eyes with their long lashes rising slowly to meet Sam's. "I know we cannot do that which we both long for." Sam nodded. "But that does not mean we cannot be close to one another." Sam's heart soared. He had wanted this so badly, and now it was about to come true. In the comforting support of the water, they held each other.

Frodo turned Sam around. His once graceful hands trembling slightly as they slid up Sam's back and over his shoulders. Not knowing what to do with his hands, Sam stood there, resting them on his swollen belly. Feeling the new life they'd created, move within him.

"My! You are so tense, my love." Frodo whispered huskily. "I shall have to remedy that."

Sam stood still for a moment in anticipation. Finally he felt Frodo's fingers climb slowly up his spine, sending shivers throughout his body. He felt Frodo's lips upon his shoulder, soft kisses climbing the back of his neck. Closing his eyes, Sam concentrated on every little sensation. Frodo's soft, moist lips on his skin. His gentle kneading of Sam's tense muscles. The small current that washed around them at the slightest movement. The babe within his womb. It was all almost too much to bear.

Soft kisses on his shoulder once more, and cool fingertips tracing lazy circles on his belly. Sam felt himself relax, feeling as though he could melt right there and become part of the little pond. He longed to feel Frodo within him, but he knew that wouldn't happen.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in this way. Soft kisses. Caressing touches. Husky whispers. Teasing. Tasting. Purely enjoying one another's body. They both wished that time might stand still so they could enjoy each other in this way forever. When the sun began to set, however, they knew it was time to go home.

As they packed their things into the little wagon, Sam caught Frodo and kissed him softly. "Thank you, Frodo, me dear." He said, meaning to say more, though unable to find the words. Frodo just smiled and offered his hand to Sam as he climbed into the wagon.

The ride home seemed much shorter than the ride there had been. Sam was almost grateful, as he was beginning to feel rather tired after the afternoon's activities. Closing his eyes and resting his head on Frodo's shoulder, he dreamed of being cuddled up in their warm bed. Something Sam had thought he'd never do again just yesterday.

That night, Sam fell asleep in Frodo's arms. He was so grateful to have been allowed to go out for the day. He would have to make it up to Frodo somehow. Until then, he was content to sleep soundly, surrounding their unborn child with love.


	9. 9

Frodo rolled over in his sleep, his right hand reaching out to feel the empty place in the bed where Sam usually slept. The sheets were cold, and had been for some time. Wiping the bleariness from his eyes, Frodo sat up silently in bed. The room was dark though in a moment his eyes had adjusted. He gazed about the room until his eyes fell on that which he was looking for.

Sam stood by the window, bathed in the bright, blue moonlight. Wearing only a cotton nightshirt, which hung loosely over his heavy midsection. One hand lay on the windowsill, the other resting casually upon his swollen belly. He was staring out the window, with a strange expression on his face. Somewhere between grief and anger.

Almost afraid to disturb his lover, Frodo sat quietly and watched him. How lovely Sam had become in the past few months, not that Frodo hadn't found Sam beautiful before, but there was something about him now that he was with child. There was a golden glow that Sam hadn't possessed before, it positively radiated from him, making Frodo feel as though he might be blinded by it at times. Frodo's eyes traced the line of Sam's strong shoulders, and down his muscular arms. His eyes finally fell to Sam's stomach, where their child resided, unborn. A smile grew on Frodo's face.

He cleared his throat a little. "You couldn't sleep, dearest?"

Sam turned, and Frodo noticed for the first time that he'd been crying, the soft glow of the moon reflecting in his wet eyes. Before he knew it, Frodo was out of bed, and padding across the cool wooden floor to comfort his love. Taking Sam in his arms, he held him tight to his chest.

"What is it, Sam? Why are you crying?"

"I just ... I miss my Gaffer, Frodo." Sam whimpered.

It had been four months since Sam had talked to his father. The night they had told the Gaffer about their joyous news, he had hurt Sam terribly. It had been just too much for Sam to deal with, in his condition, having his father blaming Frodo and telling him that he was a fool and a liar. Though maybe not in those words, Sam knew that had been the intended meaning.

He was still angry with his father for not accepting the prospect of their child, but tonight Sam found that he was missing his father even more. Never before had he refrained from speaking to the Gaffer in anger, and four months was a very long time. He was torn. Feeling as though he had to choose between his Gaffer and the family he was beginning to build with Frodo. How could he forgive the Gaffer what he'd said?

Frodo tried to soothe Sam as best he could. It seemed like an eternity that they stood there, Sam's head on his shoulder, his arms around Sam. He knew it pained Sam to be angry with the Gaffer for so long, but he didn't know how to ease it. It was because of the Gaffer's reaction that Sam and asked if they could refrain from telling others about the baby until it was absolutely necessary.

"Sam, love, come back to bed." Frodo pleaded, leading his lover back to the warm bed, he had left so quickly.

"Next week's his birthday, you know." Sam sniffled, climbing onto the bed.

"I know. Would it help if I talked to him?"

"I don't rightly know. He can be pretty unreasonable, my Gaffer."

Frodo smiled. "It must be a family trait. That old Gamgee spirit I love so much."

Sam chuckled softly and lay back against the pillows. Releasing and audible sigh and running his hands over his swollen abdomen, a sad expression coming over his face.

"I just don't want this little one to miss out on spending time with the Gaffer, Frodo. Even through all my anger, I couldn't deprive a child it's family."

"I know, Sam."

Frodo moved closer, embracing Sam. He reached out his right hand once more and laid it on Sam's, watching him relax once more. Tomorrow he thought, tomorrow I'll right this wrong.


	10. 10

Sam watched as Frodo emerged from the bedroom. He was dressed in some of his finest clothes. A jacket of royal blue velvet, trimmed with silver braids and buttons. He wore a crisp white cotton shirt beneath a rather formal looking powder blue weskit. A matching silk cravat tied neatly at his neck, which Sam found himself smiling at, knowing Frodo's distaste for them.

Turning to meet Sam's gaze, he smiled softly and gave a little nod before walking to the door. Sam chuckled remembering theyoung hobbit lad who had seemed to never want to grow up. Yet there Frodo stood, looking rather elf- like in all his finery. With his hair slightly dampened in an effort to tame his unruly curls. As he watched Frodo step purposefully out the door, a thought came to him. There he is. The true master of Bag End.

Frodo felt a little nervous as he walked down the lane to Number Three, BagShot Row. He had never liked using his authority to make people bend to his will, but this was an exception. The Gaffer had crossed a line which Frodo was unable to forgive. Coming to stand in front of the door, Frodo took a deep breath to center himself and willed his hands to stop trembling so.

The Gaffer looked up from his tea, surprised to hear the small knock upon his door. His surprise seemed to double when he opened it to find Frodo Baggins, his old master, standing there, looking every bit the gentlehobbit master, for a change.

"G'morning Mr. Frodo, sir. What brings ya here on a fine morn like this?"

"Good morning, Master Gamgee. I wondered if I might have a word with you?"

"Of course, sir!"

The Gaffer felt suddenly suspisous. He knew Frodo wasn't much on using such formalities, unless the occasion warranted such. This would be a serious conversation, and was no simple social call.

"Might I offer you some tea, Mr. Frodo?"

"Yes, Master Gamgee, tea would be lovely."

"Now, 'bout this word you wish to have with me. I'm assuming t'is my son yer wishin' to discuss." He said, pouring Frodo some tea. The Gaffer wasn't a stupid hobbit, simple maybe, but definitely not stupid.

"Yes, I have come about Sam." Frodo took a small sip of the tea, gathering his thoughts. The last thing he wanted to do was to make things worse between Sam and his father, but he could see how much Sam was hurting after months of not talking to his father.

"You see, Master Gamgee, Sam has been terribly upset by what has happened between you two. It pains him daily to know what you're thinking."

"I ain't thinking nothing about him. T'was a foolish prank the two of you tried to play." The Gaffer scoffed. "My son, pregnant! I may not be the brightest hobbit in all of Middle Earth, but I'm no fool! I know where babies come from!"

Frodo could tell this was taking a turn for the worse. How was he to explain the situation to the Gaffer when he still didn't know the reasons himself?

"Master Gamgee! I'll kindly ask you not to speak to me in such tones. I may be 40 years your junior, but I am no child." Frodo attempted to get a handle on the conversation. If this was to go well, it had to be on his terms, not the Gaffers.

Realizing how very rude he'd been, the Gaffer tried again.

"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Frodo, sir. I meant no disrespect. It's just folk talk, Mr. Frodo. Lately it's been my Samwise folk've been talking' 'bout. If you'd heard half of what's being said, it'd turn your hair white, it would, and no mistake!"

"Just what are people saying about Sam, Master Gamgee?"

The Gaffer looked at Frodo, as if trying to decide the words to use, or just how much to say.

"Folk say Sam got hisself cursed on that ... that ... that quest you dragged my poor boy on. Folk say he's grown deathly pale, and thin. All except his belly, that is. They say there's a demon or an orc growing there. Oh, Mr. Frodo! What has my Samwise gotten himself into?"

Frodo gazed at the worried and pained look on the older hobbit's face. For the first time since he'd moved to Bag End, he saw a scared and worried father beneath the Gaffer's gruff exterior. He found himself trying to see how the Gaffer felt. Part of him realizing that years from now, he could find himself in the Gaffer's position.

"Gaffer," he began, less formally. "I know not by what means Sam has come to be in his current condition. I do know that folk talk, however. I also know that some are less than kind about Sam and I, living together, alone." His big blue eyes met the Gaffers, and he continued.

"I love your son. Not as a mere friend, nay, he has not been just that for a long time now. I love Sam as an equal, as a partner." Frodo could see the Gaffer was about to interrupt and held up his hand to signal he wasn't finished.

"He is very dear to me, Gaffer, and I would that I could marry him, someday, should he have me." Shocked, the Gaffer stared at Frodo. For a long time he had suspected this, but had never had it confirmed.

"You love him?"

"Yes, sir."

"And he loves you?"

"I believe so, yes."

"He's not been cursed?"

"Gaffer, if you wish to call a child created by the love of your son and I a curse, then so be it."

"Then t'is true? My Samwise is with child?"

"Yes, Gaffer, almost seven months now."

"And the child is yours, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo nodded, and watched as the Gaffer's eyes misted over. Nearly overturning the table in the process, the Gaffer came and hugged Frodo tightly.

"My dear boy," the Gaffer began, forgetting all his properness. "I've been such a fool! I've hurt Sam because I was too proud to see the truth he tried to tell me so many months ago."

"He will forgive you, Gaffer, I know he will."

"Mayhap I should go see him?"

"I should think he would like that very much."

They walked back to Bag End together in silence. Frodo feeling good knowing he'd patched the broken relationship between his lover and his father, the Gaffer feeling relieved that his son was happy and well cared for. When Frodo opened the door to Bad End, Sam looked up from his seat by the fire and smiled to see Frodo in one piece.

"How did it go?" Sam asked, surprised to see Frodo smile and step aside revealing the Gaffer standing there.

"I'm sorry, my boy."


	11. 11

Evening fell early the night of October the fifth. It was a dark night except for the millions of diamond-like stars shining in the rich black velvet of the sky over Bag End. There was a soft cold breeze blowing, which left the tale of winters to come hanging in the air. Heavy dew had fallen that night, and every blade of grass shimmered in the light thrown from the fireflies.

Sam lay upon the hill gazing at the stars, allowing his mind to wander. In only a few short weeks life around Bag End would change drastically. It still didn't feel quite real to him that there was really a child growing within his belly. Sure he'd suffered through weeks of morning sickness, and even the fear of losing the child only a few weeks before, but in his mind he couldn't believe what was happening to him. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice that Frodo had come to lay beside him.

They lay like that for a long time, just staring at the stars. It was so comforting to lie in Frodo's arms. To feel safe, and secure, and protected there. All Sam's worries began melting away, leaving behind nothing but comfort and love. Frodo finally broke the silence with a whispered question.

"Sam-dear?"

"Yes?"

"I wondered if you had thought of any names for our little one?"

"Names? No, me dear. I actually hadn't thought ahead that far, if you follow me."

"I see." Frodo nodded and began humming a soft tune Sam had never heard before.

Sam smiled and closed his eyes. He loved the feel of Frodo's body against his, and listening to him sing like he did when Sam was but a lad. He hoped that Frodo would sing to their baby when he or she was born.

Just as that thought had crossed Sam's mind, he felt Frodo shift his position. Opening his eyes, Sam saw that Frodo was now sitting up and looking at Sam with a small smile on his face. Before Sam could say anything, Frodo had moved closer to him, and put a hand on Sam's swollen belly before laying his head down upon it also. To Sam's surprise, Frodo then started to sing, quietly to their unborn child.

A child I see

With hair of gold

And eyes of blue

A warm smile

And a heart that's true

Or maybe a child

With chestnut hair

And skin like milk

A little voice

Smooth as silk

Of this child I dream

Both day and night

So please tell me true

That this child I dream of

Might someday be you

Your name shall be known

To Dwarves, Elves and Men

For adventure shall follow you

Once you've grown tall, but

A simple Hobbit's life till then

Frodo finished singing and then heard Sam gasp in surprise, quietly. He sat up quickly and looked at Sam with worry written on his face. Had Sam's pains returned? Had he hurt the child somehow?

He searched Sam's face, only to find that Sam had closed his eyes once more, and was smiling softly.

"Are you alright, my love?" Frodo asked.

"I'm perfect, Frodo-dear!" Sam whispered back. "I just felt our wee babe move for the first time. I think we both enjoyed your song, sir, and I believe I've come up with a name for our child."

"Oh?"

"What do you think of Lyndir?"


	12. 12

A cool breeze brushed over Sam's face in sleep. Opening his eyes, he realized it was morning. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face he sleeping form of Frodo in the bed next to him. The sight that greeted his gaze was one of terror.

Frodo lay sprawled on his back, having kicked off the covers sometime in the night. He was very pale, and shimmered with a chill sweat. His usually soft curls stuck slickly around his face. Sam could hear him fighting for breath in raspy gasps. Terror gripped Sam's heart as he remembered the date. October Sixth.

He pulled himself awkwardly to his knees and reached out to gently shake Frodo. If only he could get him to look into his eyes, things would be all right, wouldn't they? Thoughts raced through Sam's mind, clouding his thinking. If this were any other time, he would have simply picked Frodo up and run to the Healer's with his lover in his arms. That wasn't an option this time. In fact, Sam doubted he even had the strength anymore, to lift the slight frame of Frodo.

"Mr. Frodo! Please!" Sam heard the desperation in his voice as he pleaded. "Come on, love, open your eyes. I know you can do it. I know you're in there!"

There was no response. Feeling an icy chill run through him, Sam tried to think clearly. Taking care of Frodo had always come so easily to him, but now it was Sam who needed taking care of, wasn't it? He wished that they weren't alone in the smial, that someone had been staying with them.

Sam moved as quickly as he could out to the kitchen. He found all the jugs he could find, and began heating water. Searching his mind for anything that might make Frodo more comfortable. He knew that warming him was his first concern. He wished he could run to get the Healer, but knew he couldn't leave Frodo alone.

When the kettle boiled, Sam filled the jugs, and carried them one at a time into the bedroom. He lay them all around Frodo on the bed, and covered his love with all the blankets he could find. His heart broke to see Frodo so in pain, and know there wasn't much he could do for him.

As the warmth slowly penetrated his body, Frodo tried to open his eyes. Sam noticed the fluttering eyelashes and grabbed Frodo's hand, squeezing it tightly, wishing some of his strength could pass through the touch. Frodo swallowed hard, unable to open his eyes.

"S-Sam?" His voice broke quietly.

"I'm here, me dear. I'm right here." Sam said trying to reassure them both. "I ain't gonna leave your side until this passes and no mistake!"

"Water." Frodo managed to squeeze out through clenched teeth.

Sam nodded, more for himself than Frodo, and reached out for the pitcher of cold water to pour a glass. He lifted Frodo's head slightly and let a little of the refreshing liquid spill over his lips. Frodo choked a little and Sam figured that was enough. Still wracking his brain, Sam remembered that he'd left some kingsfoil growing in the garden for just this very reason.

"Frodo, me dear, I'm just gonna run to the garden to get something that might help. Hold on, love!"

Sam ran, ignoring the pain in his back, and the racing of his heart. Flinging the door open, he ran out into the garden and wrenched the weed from the ground, root and all. Back in the kitchen, Sam put another kettle of water over the fire to boil.

The minutes seemed like hours, as Sam paced the kitchen feeling helpless. He felt as though his world were crashing down around him. Last night had seemed so heavenly, just the three of them, enjoying the peaceful October night, and now Frodo lay in their bed fighting for his life once more.

Sam had to steady himself on the table, as his head began to swim. He refused to give in and lose consciousness, Frodo needed him to be strong, and strong was what he was going to be. /Come on, Samwise. Pull yourself together. Frodo needs you right now!/ he thought to himself. Ignoring everything his body was telling him, Sam pushed himself away from the table, and went about making the strong smelling tea for Frodo.

Walking carefully back to their room, Sam opened the door only to find a shocking surprise. Frodo wasn't in the bed anymore. The sheets had been thrown back, and there was no sign of him in the room now.

Fear griped Sam's insides like the claws of some wild beast, and he set the tea down as carefully as his shaking hands would allow. He could feel the stinging burn of tears in his eyes. How had Frodo left, without his noticing? Where could he have gone? He should have known that Frodo might disappear, though Sam had thought Frodo too weak to act upon his hallucinations this time. Unsure if he had the energy to do so, Sam started thinking of where he should start his search.

He left the bedroom, and began searching the smial for his lover. Frodo couldn't have gone far in his condition. At least Sam hoped not, as he hadn't the energy to go running around half the Shire looking. He opened the door to the study slowly, trying to remember if he'd shut it last night.

Frodo was standing in the middle of the room, visibly shaking. Sam's heart broke as he looked at him. Frodo seemed as though the slightest breeze might knock him over, he swayed unsteadily upon his feet. Wearing only his nightshirt, which stuck to him in damp folds, he was shivering from the cold sweat that was still breaking upon his shiny skin. His eyes were rimmed with red, and his once crystal clear gaze seemed clouded with pain and confusion. Sam could feel his hot, salty tears running down his face as he stepped closer to Frodo.

Sam reached out to touch Frodo, to try to reassure him. To his surprise, Frodo stepped away, moving with more speed than Sam had thought possible of a hobbit. He grabbed the little knife that had been on the desk, and pointed it towards Sam with his hands shaking so badly it seemed he would drop it.

"Get back! You shan't take it from me!" Frodo bellowed, his face twisted with fear and desperation as he groped with his free hand for something that was no longer hanging around his neck.

Before Sam could react, Frodo had struck out at him. He found himself reeling from the blow and falling to the ground in shock.

"Frodo! It's me! It's your Sam!" he sobbed, holding his hand to his now bleeding cheek.

"Please, sir! Come back to me. You're safe. We're both safe." Sam pleaded again. Though in the back of his mind he wondered if he truly were safe at the moment. He knew that Frodo would never intentionally hurt him, but he also knew that Frodo was lost in some horrible dream-like world at the moment and didn't know what he was doing. Trying to hold back from sobbing, Sam crawled to his unsteady feet.

He moved closer to Frodo once more, murmuring quiet reassurances in hopes it might calm the shaking hobbit before him. Sam was terrified of the harm that might come to any of the three of them, himself, Frodo or their child. Trying to keep his eyes steady, despite the tears that stung them as they rolled out over his full cheeks, Sam reached for the knife, never taking his eyes from Frodo.

Taking the knife in his hand, he pulled it slowly from Frodo's white- knuckled grip. As the tip of the handle left his hand, Frodo began to shake violently, and fell to the floor in a small shivering heap. Sam could hear the soft crying coming from Frodo's buried face, and he felt as though his heart would shatter into a million tiny pieces. He knelt down and wrapped his arms around Frodo, pulling him into a warm embrace.

"It's gonna be alright, sir. I promise." Sam whispered, pressing as close as the swell of his belly would allow.

"I-I'm sorry, S-Sam." Frodo managed between sobs. "I don't know w-what came over m-me!"

"Now, don't you worry, Mr. Frodo. No harm done. Let's get you back to bed now, where we can try to get some tea into you."

Sam stood, feeling shaky all over, but willing himself to be still, and pulled Frodo onto his feet. He would have liked to carry Frodo, but thought better of it. So pulling Frodo's arm about his own shoulders, Sam carefully maneuvered them back to the large bed.

After drinking the full mug of tea, Frodo seemed a little more clear- headed, and his eyes didn't have the dull gaze they had had only minutes before. Sam collapsed on the bed, beside his partner, feeling suddenly very weary and tired. He looked at Frodo, and fought back the threatening of tears. He still looked very ill, but Sam knew the worst was probably over now.

Pulling himself closer to Frodo, Sam wrapped his arms around him protectively. They had been through so much, and still had much to go through together, but Sam knew that they could get through whatever it was, if they only stayed together. He drifted into a much-needed sleep finally.

Frodo stayed awake a long time, the pain that coursed through his very veins not allowing him to rest. He took comfort in Sam's arms, though, feeling protected as he lay in the embrace feeling Sam's expanding belly pressed lightly against his back. Frodo sighed raggedly. He refused to give in to his pain, for he had so much to look forward to in the future. After a long time, he drifted into a restless sleep.


	13. 13

The next few days seemed to pass very slowly for Sam. Things were very quiet around Bag End, and rather lonely. It had been days since Frodo had talked to Sam. He had taken to leaving before Sam awoke, and returning home after bedtime. Sam had the distinct feeling that Frodo was avoiding him.

The cut upon his cheek was healing nicely, but they had never talked about how it had come about. Sam knew that Frodo hadn't meant it, that he hadn't known who Sam was at that moment. Over the past few days, Sam had felt Frodo looking at him, but when he turned to look back, Frodo cast his gaze in another direction. In the long nights since the anniversary illness, Sam found himself longing to be held by Frodo. To feel the safety of his arms, and the comfort of his touch once more.

Sam now sat by the fire, trying to comfort himself and fight back the tears that threatened him all too often now. He felt alone, as though Frodo had abandoned him. Their child grew within him, day after day, but Sam's heart broke a little more as each day passed.

"Maybe he don't want you no more, Sam, my boy." He whispered into the fire and ran his hands over his ever-expanding belly. "Don't you worry little one, no matter what happens, I'll always be here for you. I know Frodo loves you. I know he does. You're the most precious thing in all of Middle Earth, to either of us. I guess he's just scared is all. I bet he feels guilty for hurting me like that, even though he shouldn't. I know it weren't him, little one. I know it was the poison that's still runnin' through his veins."

Sam had started to cry now. He couldn't hold in all these emotions any longer. He felt he was losing Frodo, a little bit more each day. They had been to the end of the world and back, and Sam knew he would have done anything Frodo asked of him. Save one. Sam knew that if Frodo asked, he could never let him go. Sam's heart screamed within his chest at the thought of having to live without Frodo. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't do it.

"Lyndir, my child, even if I've to give up my own life in the process, I will not let your father abandon us. That's a promise, and no mistake!" Sam sighed and closed his eyes, falling into a dreamless sleep.

Frodo opened the door as quietly as he could. It was late, and the last thing he wanted was to wake Sam now. As the door swung open, Frodo's breath caught in his throat, and hot tears bit his blue eyes. The last few days had been so hard for him; he hated avoiding Sam like this. He just couldn't bring himself to talk to Sam about that night.

Sam was sitting in a chair by the fire, the glow from the embers bathing his face in a warm orange glow, highlighting his sandy hair. Frodo's eyes were drawn to the soft skin covering Sam's eyes, with their golden lashes curling every so slightly. Sam seemed so peaceful when he slept, so open. The gentle roundness of his belly, beneath the soft nightshirt he was wearing, made Frodo's knees weak at the thought that some harm might come to either Sam or the child, someday.

Frodo walked to the trunk under the window, and pulled out a thick wool quilt. He laid the blanket over the sleeping form of his partner, tucking the edges down around him. Letting his hands slide softly over the firm curve of Sam's belly. Frodo held in a sob of pain. How could he ever have injured one he loved so much? Even in the state he'd been in?

He ran his hands all over Sam's stomach, looking up into the peacefully sleeping face. Sam had such dreams for them both. For their family. Frodo laid his head softly against the firm roundness that was Sam's belly, and cried softly. He was so afraid of himself, lately. After the things he'd done, he felt like a stranger to himself. He would never forgive himself for striking out at Sam the way he did, and it frightened him terribly that someday he might do the same to their child.

"Oh, Sam." Frodo whispered softly through his tears. "What have I done to you? I dragged you from your home, your family, and your peaceful life. I've depended on you, my dear, for everything that you could possibly give to me. I've taken it all, and never given you anything in return." He lifted his head and looked at the small wound he'd caused on Sam's cheek. "After all you've done for me, I repay you by lashing out in my own terror, and causing you harm!"

Frodo's mind churned. For days he'd been thinking about nothing but that fearful morning of the sixth. He'd been wandering the many paths through the Shire, searching for answers that would never come to him.

"What am I to do, my love?" He began in a quiet whisper once more, feeling as though his voice was failing him. "The last thing I ever wanted to do was to hurt you. Or this child." He patted Sam's belly softly, and laid his head down once more. "I'm so afraid, dear heart. Afraid of myself. Sometimes I think all the goodness in me has left. That I'm but a hollow shell left behind after the ... the ring took everything from me. I fear for you and this child, that all I might do by staying is cause you more harm. I couldn't bare it if I harmed our child, Sam. What if someday, I mistook our child for someone else, during one of my ... illnesses ...?" He couldn't finish the thought for the shiver of fear that ran through him.

Frodo felt Sam's hand slide through his hair softly. "It won't happen, me dear." Sam whispered. "I wouldn't let you harm anyone else, sir. I promised long ago that I would protect you, and I mean to. Even if it means protecting our child from you, love."

Sam slid his hand under Frodo's chin and guided it up so he could look into the blue eyes that he loved so much. He smiled and wiped the tears from Frodo's rosy cheeks. Then taking Frodo's hands, he pressed them firmly to his belly, and looked deep into Frodo's eyes.

"Don't you ever think you've not given me anything, love. You've given me a future, you have." He smiled again. "Right here. This is our future, Frodo. 'Tis all that matters now. I have no fear, nor should you. Everything is going to be alright, sir, you'll see!"

Frodo felt tears rolling down his cheeks again. "Samwise, what did I ever do to deserve you?"

"I don't rightly know, love, but I know something you could do now ..." Sam laughed a little.

"Yes, love?"

"You could go to the kitchen and get me some of the scones I made this morning!"


	14. 14

Breakfast at Bag End was a wealth of delicious smells. Fresh baked bread, and scones. Strawberry and blackberry jams smelling sweetly. Ripe apples piled high in a small basket on the table. The smoky smell of the wood fire, and the heady aroma of strong tea that brewed in the pot. The days had grown cold, now, being the middle of November. The fires were always built high now, to keep the chill from the air.

Sam sat at the kitchen table, a light quilt wrapped around his broad shoulders. He looked around the room, and felt himself cringe. There were things everywhere out of place. The dishes from last night piled by the sink, even the breakfast food laid out neatly on the table seemed to get under his skin.

For a few days now, he had been feeling very urgent about keeping the smial tidy. He couldn't stand to step into Frodo's study anymore. The paper's all over the desk and floor, maps laid out on every surface, books left open everywhere, half burnt candles dripping wax on the shelves, was just too much for him to handle.

Lately, Sam found himself looking around Bag End and seeing all the danger and trouble a small hobbit child might find to get into. Just yesterday, he had spent hours scouring the kitchen floor and ignoring the screaming pain in his back. Frodo had come back from running some errands to find Sam crouched on the floor scrubbing, his face red from the exertion. Quite the argument had arisen from that attempt.

In the past few days, Sam had repotted all the plants brought indoors for the winter. Scrubbed the floors, tidied all the books in the living room to the point that Frodo could no longer find anything he was looking for. Changed the bed sheets twice a day. Sam had baked enough bread and muffins to feed an army twice the size of Gondor. Frodo was almost starting to wish the child would hurry up and come, as Sam was beginning to drive him crazy by following behind him, and picking up anything he left out of place behind him.

After the meal, Sam decided to return to their room to get dressed. He pulled on an overlarge shirt, which he'd had made only recently as none of his old clothes would fit anymore. As he buttoned the front, he looked in the mirror. The crisp white cotton shirt fit well over his shoulders and chest, but looked odd as it swelled out to cover his large belly.

He turned sideways to the mirror, gazing at his reflection. Sliding his hands down over the tender stretched skin of his expanding belly, Sam held the loose fabric of his shirt under his belly and looked at himself. Over the past few weeks, the baby had seemed to grow in leaps and bounds. There was no way of hiding his condition anymore, which kept Sam mostly housebound now. He didn't like the way people stared at him when he went down to town. Sam watched as the baby kicked, producing a little movement under his shirt.

"Hush now, little one. Don't go causing a stampede again! I'd kinda like to breathe today, if it's not too much trouble." He chuckled.

Pulling up his pants, and tucking in his shirt, Sam found himself missing being able to wear pants with buttons. Weeks ago, he had to put all his buttoned pants aside in favor of drawstrings. Even still, there was no hope of pulling his pants up to his waist; instead they hung around his hips, under his protruding belly.

Sam hadn't heard Frodo creep into the room. He now stood leaning against the doorway, watching his lover regarding himself. A smile spreading on his face, as he watched Sam smile a lovingly and broad as their child kicked within him. He loved to watch Sam like this. Before Sam realized he was there. Frodo let out a soft sigh, which Sam heard and turned around quickly.

"Frodo!" he exclaimed a little surprised to be caught the way he had been.

"You're beautiful, Sam, did you know that?" Frodo asked quietly.

Sam blushed deeply. "You shouldn't look at me in such a way, love. Ain't proper, if you follow me."

Frodo raised an eyebrow. "And in which way would that be, Sam-dear?" Sam bit his lip, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill forth.

"Like ... like that!"

"I hadn't realized I was looking at the person I've chosen to spend the rest of my life with, in an improper manor."

"There it is again!" Sam whimpered.

"What?!?"

"That look!"

"What look?"

"THAT look!" Sam couldn't fight the tears anymore, and he stood shaking with sobs and looking at the floor.

"Sam-dear, are you suggesting that I'm not to look at you at all? I have not been making any look at you all this time. I could avert my eyes if you so wished, or return to reading in my study ...?"

"NO! Please don't leave me here alone, Frodo!" Sam pleaded. "I just ... I just ... I'm afraid ... that y-you don't want me no more!" The last word slurred a little as Sam covered his face and began to sob with deep wracking breaths.

"Oh Sam!" Frodo crossed the room to Sam's side in what seemed like two steps. He took Sam's trembling shoulders and guided him to the bed, to sit down. Frodo knelt down and took Sam's hand firmly in his own.

"Sam-dear, whatever could make you think I wouldn't want you anymore?"

"I'm hideous, Frodo! I'm so fat I look as like a bloated oliphaunt, and I only get bigger as the days pass! Soon I wont fit out the door!" Sam sobbed pathetically.

Repressing his laughter, Frodo laid his hands on Sam's rounded belly and began tracing soft circles with his fingertips.

"Hush now, Sam-dear. I meant it when I said you were beautiful! As for being fat. My dear, you've always been of perfect hobbit-size." Frodo smiled up at Sam. "Our baby just must be more Gamgee than Baggins. He or she is making each day could for two!"

Sam chuckled a little and looked down at his belly with a sigh.

"You really still find me attractive, Frodo?" Sam bit his lip and raised his hazel eyes to meet the blue ones gazing back at him.

"Of course I do, Samwise Gamgee. I love you!" Frodo's smile widened.

"Show me?"


	15. 15

The forest was very dark and cold. The very trees seemed to close in about him. Raising their roots in his path to trip him as he ran. His feet burned with the cold, and he could feel the blood from his scraped knees trickling down his legs. Running as fast as he could through the blinding darkness, his lungs burning terribly with the effort. He tripped again, trying in vain to throw his arms out to protect his face. Burning sensation above his left eye. More blood.

He stumbled to his feet once more, turning round and round. He was lost. He had to find them. He had to. He never should have let this happen. He should have been there. It was all his fault. Now he was about to lose everything.

A shrill scream, filled with pain, pierced the deafening silence. His heart sank and he felt the metallic taste of bile rising up his throat. He was failing once more. All hope rested with him, and he was lost in the darkness. The scream sounded again, chilling him to his bones and causing every hair to stand on end. He was crying.

"Sam! I'm coming, Sam!"

He stood still, listening with every fiber of his being. No sound. No breath. The darkness had swallowed everything once more. Maybe he was too late. No. He couldn't lose now. He wouldn't. They'd come so far. His reason for living was lost somewhere out there, and he was just going to have to search harder.

Breaking into a run once more, allowing his frightened sobs to speed him faster. Branches whipped his face and salty sweat dripped slowing into his eyes. His whole world was coming crashing down around him. He was going to lose the only person he'd ever truly loved. He felt powerless suddenly. If only he'd brought a lantern. Though perhaps even that light wouldn't have helped him now. He seemed destined to live his life in darkness and despair. Hadn't he always done so?

The same voice cried out once more. The strength it had possessed minutes earlier was missing. It was more of an animalistic moan of pain. An icy chill ran down his spine and his mind began to race. It sounded like the last breath of life escaping the poor soul.

He could feel his heart freeze within his chest as he ran faster, taxing himself to his limits. Death hung in the very air, like a strangling fog. His determination strengthened more. He would beat death yet another time.

"Hold on, Sam! Hold on, I'm coming!" He chanted to himself as he ran. He knew he must hurry now. Listening as hard as he could, he ran full tilt towards the sound. What was it he was hearing?

Ragged breathing! Faint, but still there. He hadn't lost yet. Not yet. There was still hope left. Sam lived.

Another panicked scream split through the stillness like a sharp knife. He tripped again as it sounded. Falling to the ground, which seemed to be covered in something thick and warm. Blood? He blinked back tears, and groped through the darkness, searching for the source.

Seconds seemed like minutes, minutes like hours as he crouched on the ground to search. At least his eyes seemed to be adjusting somewhat to the darkness as time passed. Perhaps the darkness was lifting.

He followed the sound of ragged short breaths until his hand finally touched cold, clammy skin. At that instant, his vision cleared, and his breath caught painfully in his throat. The sight before him was an awful one, and he feared he might break into tears all too soon.

Sam lay on the ground, curled protectively around the mound that housed their unborn child. He was so pale his skin seemed the color of ashes. His eyes were closed tight and he wore an expression of excruciating pain upon his weary face. The ground was covered in a spreading pool of his blood.

"Sam-dear! I'm here, I've come. I shall never leave you again!" He promised in vain, lifting Sam into his lap and rocking him softly.

Another scream left Sam's lips as his body was rocked with yet another painful contraction, followed closely behind by still another. Sam collapsed limply afterwards. His pain-blinded eyes seeming to roll back in his head.

"Frodo ... I'm ... sorry ... "Sam sighed softly as the fight for his life drew to an end. Death had won out, after all, and he lay limp in Frodo's arms.

"Sam! No!!! Sam! You cannot be gone! You can't!" His eyes unfocused with the painful tears of his loss. How could he go on without Sam? Sam was his strength, his hope.

Minutes passed as he held tightly to the lifeless body of his love. Shaking all over with the shock. Finally his thoughts turned to the child. He knew he had to hurry, that there wasn't much time. Perhaps the baby could be saved when Sam could not.

Looking around, he saw a knife on the grass nearby. How had that gotten there? No matter. He grabbed it, and turned whispering his apologies for having to mutilate Sam's body further, he cut into the swollen belly.

Holding his breath, and trying not to think of the blood that spilled out and gathered at his knees, he reached for the child inside. He pulled it gently into the light, only to find there was no hope. Sometime during the long labor, the life-cord had wrapped around the child's neck, strangling it. The babe was already blue with lifelessness.

Placing their son in Sam's dead arms gently, he screamed and pounded the ground. It was just so unfair. How was he to survive yet another loss of a loved one? He couldn't go on. He'd lost everything that mattered, and his life was no more.

Frodo woke with a scream, and jumped out of bed. He rushed as quickly as he could around to the other side, and grasped Sam's shoulders tightly and shook him awake violently.

"What? What?!?" Sam's worried but sleepy voice demanded as he opened his eyes.

"Oh Sam!" Frodo cried and hugged his lover harder than he'd ever done before. "You're safe! You're safe, and you're here! I'm never going to let you out of my sight, that I promise. I'll never let that happen to you. Never." He let out a pained and scared sob.

Sam felt very confused. He had no idea what had just happened, but he contented himself that Frodo would tell him when he was ready. Pulling Frodo onto the bed, he took his hand, and placed it on his tightly stretched belly.

"Everything's fine, love." He reassured Frodo, and hoped it was true.


	16. 16

Frodo woke early the next morning. He hadn't been able to really sleep after his nightmare to begin with, and the rising of the sun hadn't helped. For months he'd been worrying about Sam, and his dream the night before had only worsened that worry. He had lain in bed and watched Sam sleeping peacefully. If anything should happen to Sam, he would never forgive himself.

Almost afraid to touch Sam, for fear that he might contaminate the pureness of his lover, he moved closer. Frodo slid his hand under the thick quilts and slid it over the mound that was their child. Did all new parents have fears, as he did? A light flutter met his touch, and he couldn't help but smile.

"Good morning, little one. I trust you slept well?" He whispered to Sam's belly with a small smile. "I promise you that I will make sure that you and your mother come through this alright. I think I'll get the Healer to come later this morning." Glancing up at Sam's peaceful face. "Whether you like it or not, my love."

Sam stood up from the chair by the kitchen fire, where he was cooking breakfast. A couple of days before, he'd had to give in to his aching back, and seat himself instead of standing while cooking. He'd heard the door close quietly, signaling that Frodo had returned from the Healer's.

"Frodo-dear?" He called out, hopefully and rubbed his lower back slightly at the thought of having to walk to the living room. The smial seemed to grow in size as he did; a feeling of breathlessness usually accompanied the effort to walk from the bedroom to the kitchen now. When there was no answer, Sam decided he should go and check to see if everything was all right.

Sam rounded the corner, and saw Frodo standing by the front door. He was standing stock still, and hadn't even removed his cloak to compensate for the heat of being indoors. As Sam got closer, he noticed that Frodo was much paler than usual. Something had happened.

"Frodo? What's happened?" Sam asked, trying to keep the worry from his voice. He knew that Frodo had gone to see the Healer this morning. Perhaps something was wrong. Was Frodo ill? Frodo broke his gaze away from the fire, and raised his eyes to Sam's.

He cleared his throat. "It's the Healer, Sam." Frodo's voice shook. "He's dead."

Sam's knees nearly gave out with the shock. "Dead? But how?" Realization dawning on him. "Oh, Frodo … !" His hands went protectively to his swollen belly, and he felt the salty bite of tears in his eyes.

Frodo swallowed his shock as he watched an odd shade of green spreading over Sam's face. He had become very familiar with that color over the past months. Jumping back a little, he was able to be out of harms way when Sam lurched forwards and lost his breakfast.

Taking Sam's shoulders, he steered him into the kitchen.

"Sit, dear heart. Just breathe. That's it, love. I feel terrible for frightening you so."

Sam was shaking all over, and still holding his belly instinctively.

"What are we to do now, Frodo?" His voice faltered slightly.

"I don't know, love. We'll think of something. Of that I'm sure." Frodo said, hoping that none of the fear that was gripping his heart showed in his voice.

"There's only few short weeks left before this babe comes … " Hot tears slid down Sam's cheeks while his fingers drew soft circles over his extended belly for comfort.

Frodo's heart ached to see his lover so frightened. His mind began to run over all the solutions he could think of. He found himself wishing that Aragorn were there, he would have known what to do.

" … Lord Elrond?" Sam's voice broke through his thoughts.

"Sorry, Sam-dear. I was elsewhere for a moment." His eyes met the teary hazel ones. "Say that again?"

"I asked if you thought Lord Elrond could help, is all." Sam sniffed looking hopeful.

"Samwise Gamgee! Sometimes you amaze me with your brilliance! Do you think we have time to make the trip to Rivendell?" Frodo knelt at Sam's feet, putting both hands on Sam's hard belly, and looking hopefully into his eyes.

"Well," Sam said, sniffing once more. "The Healer told me last week that I'd about six weeks left. So, that leaves five now, to travel."

"I'm not sure I quite like the idea of taking you out in the wilds in your present condition, Sam." Frodo spoke quietly, tracing a little pattern on Sam's belly to keep from thinking of his nightmare.

"Frodo, this baby is getting ready. I can feel it. I'm not liking the idea of having some Shire farmer, who's only delivered sheep and ponies, as my only choice when the time comes." Sam placed his hands over Frodo's, and leant down to kiss the slightly frowning lips.

"Elrond would be my choice now, too, love. I only wish there was an easy way to get you to him. It's too far to walk now, and that would take too long. Riding out jostle you and the child too much … "

"Then we'll take the wagon, love. I could ride the whole way, and we could make it in time to hopefully be able to enjoy each other, before we become three."

"Oh, Sam! Whatever would I do without your good hobbit sense to keep me straight?" Frodo teased lovingly.

The next hours were spent packing, and making plans. After tea they would set out for Crickhollow, and enlist the help of Merry and Pippin if they would come. Frodo welcomed the idea of help, as he wouldn't let Sam lift or carry anything, and after packing the wagon himself, was very tired. It was going to be a long trip, and he prayed to the Valar that everything turned out for the best.


	17. 17

Mr. Frodo spent the day packing for the journey. I told him that I would help, I almost like packing, truth be told. Leastways I can distract meself with it, always helped before. "You should never be afraid of an honest day's work" as my Gaffer says.

After arguing awhile, I finally got him to see my point. I'm starting to feel rather useless lately. I get tired so easily. I swear some days, all I've to do is walk from bed to the washroom before I need a nap. It bothers me to have to leave all this work to Frodo, I'm sure he'd rather be in his study translating, instead of out in the cold, packing the wagon.

I know that I have to be careful, now. A'int nothing I would do to harm our baby, again. I learned my lesson the last time. I don't think I've ever been as scared as I was after Frodo's birthday. Not even facing all the orcs of Mordor could've frightened me more, and no mistake.

I think it scared Frodo, too. He's terrible nightmares, he does. Not that he'd tell me mind you. I don't think he even knows that I've been awake most times that he wakes with a cry and jumps out of bed to check on me. What a fine pair the two of us make. Neither telling the other about our fears in an effort to protect the other.

I've plenty of fears, don't get me wrong. I would just never burden Frodo with them. He's had to deal with so much, already. I'm not about to add to his worries. I vowed long ago that I'd protect him, and that's what I mean to do.

After the wagon was packed, we set off through Hobbiton, and over the bridge. It was an uncomfortable ride, and no mistake. No matter how I shifted in my seat, my back still ached something terrible. I was also feeling very tired as I'd forgone my usual nap in order to have everything done in time.

I'd almost forgotten how nosey folk could be. I'd spent most of my time stuck at Bag End over the past few weeks. I've grown so large out front that my cloak had no hope of hiding my condition. I can only imagine the stories that would be told, now. Me, heavy with child, riding upon a loaded wagon, heading away from Bag End. While Mr. Frodo walked, leading Ol' Bill. What a sight we must have looked.

It was a long trip out to Crickhollow. I could tell that Frodo was frustrated at having to stop so often, so I could relieve myself. He never said anything, mind you, but I knew by the look on his face. I thought about suggesting that he try having a babe bouncing on his bladder for an hour, but thought better of it. The last few days, I'd been rather moody and snappy, if you follow me.

It was dark when we finally reached Merry and Pippin's. I was thankful when Merry offered his hand to me as I got down from the wagon. My back was aching something fierce, and I was cold and hungry. We'd only left Bag End a few hours ago, and I was already dreadful sore, and having second thoughts about continuing on. Rivendell was still two long weeks away.

"Come along, Sam. We've readied the guestroom already, and supper's almost done." Merry said cheerfully as he guided me through the door, followed by Frodo and Pippin.

The big armchair by the fire felt real good. It was nice to not be moving and bumping around. I was able to just sit while the three of them ran around gettin' everything ready. I felt like I should've been helping, but really didn't have the energy.

Supper was very good, Pippin's a talented cook, he is. There was so much food we four were stuffed to the brim by the end. I knew I'd eaten too much about a half hour afterwards. Little Lyndir started kicking up a storm. At times it felt like she'd caught hold of my ribs and was pushing out with all her might.

I'd closed my eyes tight, willing her to stop. Not that it ever worked, mind you. When I opened my eyes again, Pippin was kneeling beside me. There was a light in his eyes and he wore a tearful look of longing on his face.

"Sam … may I … that is … could …" he stumbled over what to say. I couldn't help but smile. He may be a wee bit naive, but least his heart's in the right place.

"'Course you can, Pippin!" I told him, taking his hand and placing it on my belly where Lyndir was most active.

Pippin's eyes widened as he felt the baby within me kicking. His mouth forming a little "Oh" that made the rest of us laugh.

"Hello there, little cousin! How're you doing in there? I hope your Mama's treating you well." He finally whispered to my belly, which made me smile.

"Oh! That reminds me!" Merry exclaimed suddenly. "We've a present for the baby."

He ran from the room, and Frodo's eyes met mine. I could tell he was excited by the sparkle in his big blue eyes. I would die a very happy hobbit if I could look into those eyes all the rest of my days.

Merry came back into the room, and I nearly burst into tears, I did. It was the most beautiful present I'd ever received from anyone.

"I made it myself." He stated with pride as he set the tiny cradle down in front of me.

It was so tiny, made of a deep colored oak. There was a small ivy vine that climbed, in carving, up over the ends. Inside the cradle was the softest looking yellow bedding that I've ever seen.

I could feel tears running down my cheeks when I hugged Pippin tight, and with his help, stood to hug Merry, too. I was glad Frodo thanked them for me, as I couldn't find my voice, if you follow me. It was all just too much.

After such a long day, and so much emotion just then, I felt very tired. I must have swayed on my feet a little because suddenly Merry and Frodo had hold of my elbows, and I felt rather light-headed. They guided me into the guest room and sat me on the edge of the bed.

After Merry and Pippin had said their goodnights, Frodo turned to me. I saw the little wrinkles forming upon his brow, which usually means that he's worried. That night was no different.

"Samwise Gamgee, you had better start telling me when you're tired, before you collapse. I will not have you worrying me like this out in the wild, my love." He scolded me.

I couldn't help but think to meself as he helped me change from my traveling clothes, "There he is. The Master of my heart, and I must have been born under a lucky start that he should love me in return."


	18. 18

The large bed, in the room at Bree, felt absolutely wonderful after riding in the wagon all day. Sam sunk thankfully into the over-sized feather pillows. Today had been worse than the trip to Crickhollow. His very bones still felt as though they were being bounced about mercilessly, and the babe within him, had become very active. Sam wondered if he would ever be able to sleep that night.

"Sam-dear?"

"Yes, love?" he responded sleepily.

"Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable? You you've only to ask, I know today's journey was hard on you." Frodo spoke softy as he climbed onto the bed beside Sam.

"I'm not sure there is anything anyone can do, Frodo-dear. The babe must be restless, if you follow me." Sam said, shifting his position once more in a futile search for comfort.

Frodo smiled and moved closer to Sam. His slender fingers come to rest on Sam's rounded belly. Closing his eyes, as if concentrating intently on something, Frodo started tracing a soft pattern over the taut skin. At Frodo's touch, very soft moan escaped Sam's lips, and he too, closed his eyes.

Frodo's expert fingers seemed to know just where to move to cause relief. Sam could already feel the babe's movements slow. Frodo smiled noticing this too, and bent to lay a soft kiss upon the hard mound. He could hear Sam's breath beginning to slow as sleep began to wash over him. Frodo closed his eyes once more, and resumed tracing small circles on Sam's belly.

The older hobbit sighed softly, before beginning to sing a very lovely elvish lullaby he had learned from Bilbo in his youth. He heard Sam release a last sigh of finality as sleep finally won him over. Another smile played across Frodo's soft lips, before he lowered his head to rest upon Sam's large belly.

"Hush now, little one. Your mother needs all the rest he can get. I know you're restless after a long day of travel, and you must feel rather cramped in there." Frodo kept drawing little circles by his face. "I know you are anxious to come into the world and meet your parents. Believe me, we are anxious to meet you, as well. But, little one, I beg of you, my child, please wait until we reach Rivendell!" He felt silent tears roll down his cheeks as he raised his eyes to the peacefully sleeping face of his lover, as he continued. "I could not bare it if I lost you, my love." His attention returned to the swollen belly. "Either of you." Frodo said sleepily before yawning and giving in to a thankfully dreamless slumber.

Sam awoke in the very early hours of the morning. It was still dark outside this window, and there was raucous laughter coming from the gathering room. Despite the hour, whoever was still there, was enjoying themselves.

Blinking the last feelings of sleep from his eyes, Sam smiled to see Frodo curled at his side. His lover's arm wrapped protectively about Sam's large mid-section. Careful not to wake Frodo, he slowly slid from under the protective arm. Sam pulled on his breeches, and shrugged into his weskit, not bothering with the buttons. Once done, he very quietly slipped from the room.

Moving as quietly as he could, down the hallway. The last thing he wanted was to encounter a drunken resident of Bree while in his current state. He only wished to use the privy before returning to the comfort of bed and Frodo's arms. Resting his hand absently on his belly, Sam sped up his pace, and reached the privy thankfully without meeting anyone else.

Sam left the haven of the small room, a short time later, planning to make his way back to his room. His path was suddenly cut off when a tall youth stepped out from the darkness in front of him. Sam thought of retreating when he heard the snickering of two others behind him. He was trapped, and in no condition to fight.

"Looky what we gots here, boys! It's one of them little halfling rats!" the man in front of Sam sneered.

"They're fun to play with, Rowlie, this we might have some fun with him?" asked one of the voices from behind Sam.

"I think we might." Rowlie replied with a sinister look in his eyes.

Sam willed himself to stop shaking, and wrapped his arms instinctively about his belly. He could feel the all too familiar feeling of fear was over him. Why should you fear these me, Samwise Gamgee? If you could face all the orcs of Mordor, why should you fear three men? Sam thought, before he remembered that he'd left his room unarmed. Just then, the baby decided to roll over within him, causing Sam's belly to ripple in an odd manor, through his shirt. He cursed himself for not buttoning his weskit, which would have hidden his condition a little better. A look of horror passed over Rowlie's face, which was soon replaced with disgust.

"Willie, hold him still! Tom! Ya gotta see this! His belly, it moved!" Rowlie exclaimed, while the other two obeyed. Sam felt strong hands grip his arms; Willie was easily twice Sam's size. There was no use fighting.

Sam flinched when the one named Tom poked his belly impatiently.

"Nothin's happenin'!" Tom whined.

"Unhand me, now!" Sam protested furiously, which only earned him a slap across his cheek that left his ears ringing.

"You'll talk when spoken to, halfling scum!" Rowlie spat, with hatred visible in his eyes.

Sam could taste blood in his mouth, and the adrenaline rush was causing him to feel rather nauseous. He half hoped that one of them would be close enough to be covered when he felt the urge to retch.

The next few minutes passed in a haze of hated exchanges between Sam's three captors. They were still trying to figure out exactly what kind of 'fun' to have with him, and what exactly it had been that caused his stomach to move like that. Sam used the time to try to think of a way to escape. He knew he had to protect his child, and wasn't sure what the three men might do when they realized that he was in fact pregnant. Hurried thoughts ran through his head, and kept him from hearing Rowlie when he asked something. Sam was brought back to reality with another fist connecting with his cheekbone.

"What!!!" He sobbed, not remembering when he had started crying, and hating himself for showing that kind of weakness right now. All Sam wanted was to be able to return to Frodo, to be comforted, and fall back to sleep.

"I asked you what caused it, filth! NOW ANSWER!" Rowlie seethed dangerously.

"T'is nothing…." Sam lied, the small effort bringing nothing but more pain as he was forced to his knees. Rowlie grabbed a handful of his golden curls and forced his head up to look at him.

"I'll show you nothing, you little pig." He slapped Sam once more. "If you don't tell us, we'll really give you something to cry about!"

"I'm pregnant." Sam stated in a tiny voice. When had his voice become so meek?

"Pregnant?" The three of them laughed. "A pregnant male? Well there's a surprise, and no mistake!"

"Maybe we should have our fun before we cut him open and see how 'is innards word?" Willie suggested, as he pulled out a large knife, and placed it beneath Sam's chin causing a faint red line to form there.

Sam was sobbing now, and found that he didn't care. He was terrified, and he couldn't see a way out of this for himself or the child. Thoughts racing through his head. He would never meet his child. He would never see Frodo again. He was going to die in this darkened hallway in Bree, and no one would know until morning.

He gave one last pleading look to his captors before he sagged back from the knife and retched all over the floor before losing consciousness.

"Sam? Sam? Come on, please wake up! Come back to me, love."

He could hear Frodo's familiar voice, but he knew it was his imagination. He was still kneeling in that darkened hallway, full of fear, and pain. Captured.

"Sam-dear, wake up!" Frodo's voice was pleading again. Was it his imagination?

Sam slowly began to register the feelings around him. He wasn't on his knees anymore, and in fact was laying on something soft and forgiving. There was a pillow beneath his head, and some under his feet also. There was warm sunlight shining on him.

It was morning. It was morning, and he'd survived!

"Frodo … the baby?!?" he moaned through a throat hoarsely dry.

"The baby's fine, love. I had a healer come to check you when you were found. I'm so sorry, Sam-dear! I should have been there!"

Sam accepted the offered water, gratefully. "No, wasn't your fault, Frodo. I had to use the privy; I should've used the chamber pot. I just wanted the walk, is all."

"The important thing is that you're alright! I was so worried about you, love." Frodo smiled at him warmly and placed a gentle kiss upon his brow. "Rest now. We'll spend one more night, and let you recover from this … incident, and then we shall leave for Rivendell once more."

"Thank-you." Sam said sleepily, and turned into his pillow and drifted off into slumber once more.


	19. 19

They had made good time that day, traveling ever closer to the haven of Rivendell. As evening settled over Middle Earth, the four companions stopped to make camp for the night. They had reached the borders of Imladris, which seemed to provide a semblance of security to the hobbits.

Frodo found himself wishing they could continue through the night. The babe Sam carried had dropped in position since they had left Bag End. He could tell Sam was very uncomfortable now, though he wasn't complaining. He had grown so large in front that it seemed almost painful for him to move about. Perhaps that was why Sam hadn't wished to leave the wagon today? Frodo forced himself to believe that was true, as he set himself to the task of making the most comfortable bed he could manage.

He was grateful to have Merry and Pippin along. They were eager to help. Pippin had taken to looking after Sam, fetching him anything he needed, distracting him in any way that he could. Yes, Pippin had truly been a blessing on this trip. Then again, Merry had been a great help also. He immediately set to making a campfire whenever they stopped and he made sure that everyone ate to keep up their strength. Yes, Frodo was very glad to have his cousins there.

His attention returned to Sam, as he walked into the camp. Both hands pressed against his lower back, moving very slowly in an almost waddle-like gait. There was a distant look in Sam's eyes, as though he wasn't quite aware of where he was. Deep down, Frodo knew that something was wrong, but he refused to acknowledge it.

"Are you alright, Sam-dear? You seem rather distant, my love." Frodo asked as Sam clumsily lowered himself beside Frodo.

"Do I? T'was not my meaning, to be sure. Mayhap I'm just tired … "Sam replied dreamily before curling up at Frodo's side with a sigh.

Frodo smiled, feeling slightly worried. Sam wasn't acting like himself, and Frodo started praying to the Valar and anyone else who might listen, that Sam's behavior wasn't a signal of the impending birth. He slid his hand over Sam's belly, hoping to comfort them both. Instead he felt a cool chill run through him, as Sam's swollen abdomen seemed firmer and tighter than it had even the previous day. No longer could he deny it, time was running out.

"Frodo? Frodo, wake up!" Pippin's frantic voice brought him away from his dreams quickly.

"What's wrong? Is it Sam?!?" Frodo shot to his feet, panic gripping him with its chilly fingers.

"Yes and no, Frodo. He's missing. He was gone when Merry and I woke this morning."

"He's what?" Frodo screeched, as visions of his reoccurring dream, in which Sam died in childbirth, flooded his head. He had to find Sam. What if his dream were truth? No! He pushed that thought from his mind, and ran into the woods, with Pippin close behind him.

Minutes passed like hours. Frodo searched frantically, pushing himself to the limits. How could Sam just wander off like this? Didn't he realize how worried they'd be? If he's not hurt when I find him, I shall give him such a talking to that will put shame to the Gaffer! Frodo thought as he searched.

"Anything?" Merry called from where he was searching.

"Not yet, I'm afraid." Pippin answered.

"He couldn't have gone far in his condition." Frodo hoped. "We should check closer to camp, and split up to cover more ground!"

Obeying, Merry ran one way, and Pippin in the other. Frodo turned and ran back the way he came. He had a feeling that they had missed something on the first pass. Something important.

Running faster, Frodo watched the ground searching for tracks. Again he found himself wishing Aragorn were there. Frodo felt so helpless, and laid no faith in his tracking skills. He cursed himself for not paying attention more when he was a lad and Bilbo had tried to teach him tracking skills.

Frodo was so caught up in his own thoughts that he almost didn't hear the soft whimper that came from the bushes beside him. He stopped dead in his tracks and called out frantically.

"Sam?"

He waited, but heard nothing.

"Sam?! Where are you?" He yelled into the quiet morning air.

"Frodo." Sam's voice was quiet and weak.

Frodo ran towards the sound, and gasped as Sam came into view. He was standing by a huge tree, his hand resting heavily on it for support. He was shaking terribly, and all color seemed to have drained from his face, upon which he wore a look of fear. Sam's eyes spoke of the panic he was feeling inside.

"Frodo … "

Before he realized what he was doing, Frodo had closed the distance between them, and had wrapped his arms around Sam for support. Together, they sank gently to the ground, never taking their eyes from each other.

"Sam. My Sam." Frodo said with a tiny smile of pure relief. He knew what was happening, but relief that Sam would not be alone had won over his fear for a moment. A very brief moment.

Sam's eyes widened, becoming unfocused with pain. He let out a low, guttural moan as another contraction washed over him. All sound disappeared, as though the whole world vanished. As the pain built, Sam closed his eyes and tried to focus all his energy on the feeling of Frodo's arms held tightly around him. When the pain passed once more, he tried to explain.

"Frodo, I'm so sorry." He began breathlessly. "I only had to relieve meself." He swallowed. "The pains started again, and I tried to get back to camp, truly I did." He gave Frodo a helpless look, trying to keep from crying. " I can't walk no further, Frodo!"

Frodo nodded, swallowing his fear. So many times on their quest, Sam had been Frodo's strength. Now that their places were reversed, he had no intentions of letting Sam down. Sam was in labor, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. His mind raced once more, going over all the options he could think of.

"Sam-dear, I have to find Merry and Pippin. I shall send them on to Rivendell to bring back help. I don't want to leave you for a moment, but I must." Frodo stated as calmly as he could. Now was not the time to show how scared he truly was.

"I understand." Sam grunted as another contractions tore through him. Gratefully, Sam held Frodo's hands until the pain subsided.

"I will be as quick as I possibly can, my love." Frodo said with a nod, before running off back to came once more.

Frodo returned as quickly as he could. He had gathered all the supplies, from their camp, that he could carry. He knew that they would have to wait a few hours for help to arrive. Praying that the babe would wait that long, he knelt down beside Sam.

"So … cold … " Sam shivered and looked at Frodo with tears in his eyes. He was so afraid. It was like he had lost control over his body. Things were moving so fast. He wasn't ready for this. There was still supposed to be two weeks until the birth. They were supposed to be in Rivendell. He was supposed to be lying in an overly large elven bed, with herbs or something to help the pain. He was supposed to be under the care of Lord Elrond. Instead he was laying, shivering on the cold ground, in the woods. At least he wasn't alone, he thought.

Frodo had covered him with a blanket sometime while he was lost in thoughts. He could feel another contraction building. Knotting his fists in the blanket, Sam closed his eyes and released the scream that had lain waiting in his throat. When the pain finally passed, he lay huddled against Frodo, sweating and gasping for breath.

The hours passed very slowly. The contractions were coming very close together, and at such a strength that it left Sam gasping for breath until the next one hit. Frodo had to fight his fear more and more. Flashes of his nightmares kept coming back to him.

He cradled Sam between his legs. Rocking him through each contraction, and singing softly in between. As each hour passed, Sam's complexion grew even more ashen. He glistened with a chill sweat that covered his body. Each new pain sapped more of his strength from him. Sam was fading, and Frodo feared that if help didn't arrive soon, his nightmares would come true. He would lose Sam and the babe.

"Frodo?" Sam's voice seemed very small and far away.

"Shh, my love. Save your strength, Lord Elrond will arrive soon, and then we've some work to do." Frodo said, as silent tears rolled down his cheeks and landed in Sam's golden curls when he kissed them.

"If I … If I don't … " Another pain slammed through him, as though the babe were trying to tear him in two in order to be born.

"Don't you dare talk like that, Samwise Gamgee! You will do no such thing, do you hear me?" Frodo scolded though his tears. "This baby needs you! And so do I."

Yet another relentless contraction ripped through Sam's body. He could hear himself cry out in pain, though the sound seemed terribly far away. His head began to swim. He was aware of Frodo talking, but he couldn't understand any of it. Was Frodo talking to him, or someone else? The world was growing dark and Sam had the feeling that he was falling from a terrible height. Falling. Falling. Falling until everything was blackness.


	20. 20

Darkness, pure and simple darkness. Nothing seemed to matter here. No pain. No fear. Just a cradling comfort that only darkness could bring. It was comfortable here. Why had he feared the darkness before? He was almost thankful for it, now. He could rest here, and he was so tired. So very tired.

"Come back to us, Samwise."

That voice. He knew that voice. It was very familiar, and yet he couldn't quite place it. The soft, almost melodic timbre of it, seeming to slice through the darkness. Sweeping it away like fog in a gentle breeze. He pushed it from his mind. There was no voice. He imagined it. Yes, imagined it. He was safe here, and nothing could touch him.

"Samwise, I know that you can hear me. You must open your eyes, or all is for naught."

Oh, bother! He could almost hear the raised eyebrow in the tone of voice. Couldn't he stay here a little longer? Sounds started coming back to him. Hushed voices. Horses. The wagon's wheels moving upon a path. Frodo's crying.

Why was Frodo crying?

He forced himself upwards. Crawling up through the blessed darkness towards consciousness. Frodo needed him. He had to get to Frodo. There was something important he needed to do.

"Frodo …"

He forced his eyes open. They were still bleary and he couldn't make them focus. He could feel Frodo's arms around him, stroking his sweat-damp curls. Blinking more. Was that Lord Elrond?

"Oh, Sam! Thank the Valar! I was so scared!" Frodo's voice sounded so relieved, through his tears.

"Indeed, Samwise. We were very close to losing you." Elrond spoke calmly from his seat by Sam's feet. "I need you to drink some of this, it will ease some of your pain until we arrive back in Imladris." He said, passing a cup to Frodo, who offered it to Sam.

Sam swallowed as much of it as he could before the hot band of pain gripped his belly once more. He cried out, wishing that he were still floating in the comfort of darkness. The pain grew, and grew, coming finally to a climax. At which point, Sam felt a popping sensation inside, before a puddle formed between his legs. He could feel the blush rise quickly up his face. He hadn't just lost control over his bladder in front of the Lord of Rivendell, had he? He was mortified.

"I'm … I'm sorry!" Sam choked out.

Elrond simply put his hand up in a very lordly manor.

"You didn't, Samwise. Do not trouble yourself. This is simply another stage in the labor process. Things would start progressing now." Elrond stated calmly, before placing his hands upon Sam's over-large belly, and closing his eyes.

Time seemed to stand still as Elrond tilted his head slightly. He seemed to be listening to something that neither hobbit could hear. Sam felt a feeling of calm wash over him as soon as the elf's hands were laid upon him. The world around him became sharper and more defined.

Another contraction. Stronger than the others. Sam braced himself for crying out in pain. Though he never did. He simply breathed through the pain, with a feeling of disconnection. Sam knew he was in pain. He could feel it, but it didn't seem to matter. This must be how elves feel He mused, as the pain subsided. When Elrond finally removed his hands, Sam felt his weariness hit him once more, at full force.

"Tired." Sam moaned softly before dozing until the next contraction.

They arrived in Rivendell only minutes later. Relief washes over Frodo, replacing the terror that had gripped his heart for so many hours. He knew that if there were anything to be done to help Sam, this was the place that they would find that help. He watched helplessly as another elf came and lifted Sam into his arms, carrying him to a clean chamber, led by Lord Elrond. He knew he should follow, but his feet wouldn't obey him. He stood, frozen in the courtyard, watching his lover, in the throws of labor, being carried away from him.

"Frodo?" Merry's quiet voice sounded from beside him.

"Huh? Oh, Merry." Frodo shook his head, trying to gain control of the situation once more.

"Frodo, you should go in there. Sam needs you, now."

He swallowed hard. Merry was right. Sam needed him. He knew this, and yet here he still stood, frozen to the ground. How could he bring himself to go in there and watch while his reason for living slipped away from him? What if his dream were going to come to pass?

It seemed an eternity that he stood there. Unable to move, until finally breaking into a run at the sound of Sam's pained voice crying out for him. That sound wrenched his very heart, and forced him back to tears. The sight that greeted him, as he burst through the door, terrified him.

Sam lay on an examining table, deathly pale, and covered in the slick sheen of sweat that had coated him for hours. He was writhing with the pain of a new contraction, and Frodo's heart screamed at him for standing at the door and not trying to comfort Sam. His lover was bare from the waist down, though his shirt covered most everything important. Though the sight of the blood that pooled on the sheet was all that Frodo's eyes could see.

Was that normal?

Elrond noticed Frodo's hesitance and ushered him forward saying something about Sam needing his support now, as the baby was coming.

"Frodo … I …" Sam was cut off as yet another pain washed over him, forcing him to stop speaking and scream once more. This was torture. Slow and very painful torture.

"Shh, Sam. Just breathe. I'm here, and this will all be over soon, love." His wet blue eyes met Elrond's in a pleading look. He knew Sam was weakened after so many hours, and prayed this would move quickly. Everything would be fine, right?

"Samwise, I want you to push, with all your strength, when the next pain comes." Elrond stated from his seat at the end of the bed.

Sam nodded, and when the next contraction came, pushed with all his might. He felt he might tear in two, but his body seemed to be taking over. No longer was he reasoning what he was doing. He was simply following his instincts. Instincts? His body really did know what to do right now?

Frodo kisses the sweat-soaked brow, and held Sam's hand for support. He wished he could make all the pain go away, while all he could think of was that he was the cause of that pain. He vowed to himself that he would never, ever, risk Sam's life in this way, ever again.

He was lost in his thoughts for a long time, until a thin high-pitched wail cut through him. He blinked and cleared his eyes, to see a very tiny baby being passed to the elf by Elrond's side. His child. It was almost over. Sam squeezed his hand, tears in the hazel eyes.

"Master Baggins, come meet your daughter." The other elf stated with a smile as Frodo's eyes followed him.

His daughter.

He tore his eyes away to meet Sam's as if to ask permission. At Sam's nod, he crossed the room to the small table that held the squalling infant. She seemed too tiny, and fragile. A small tuft of golden curls upon her head, and large blue eyes, which seemed not to focus properly. Tiny arms and legs waving about in the air, and a little pink cupid's bow of a mouth.

The whole world seemed to dissolve around him. All sound, and sight of anything else around him, seemed to vanish. Everything paled in comparison to the beauty of this new life before him. A life, which he had helped to create. Tears of joy rolled gently down his face as he watched his daughter being wrapped in a small blanket. Never before had he felt such an overwhelming feeling of protection for another.

"Frodo, would you care to introduce your daughter to her mother now? Elladan and I shall leave you three to get acquainted. We will return shortly." Elrond said, before leaving the room with his son.

"Frodo …?" Sam asked weakly from where he lay, now cleaned, and resting on as comfortably as possible on the bed.

Picking up the baby, Frodo made his way to the bed. She was so light in his arms, and he felt as though she might break her as she simply looked up into his face with newborn wonder. He smiled as she squeaked a little when he lay her into Sam's waiting arms.

"Oh, Frodo! She's absolutely beautiful!" Sam said, forcing himself to stay awake, allowing his tears to flow freely now.

"I know, love." He replied, sliding his finger into the tiny newborn fist. "Hello, little Lyndir!" Frodo looked down at Sam, realizing how very beautiful he was at this moment, and the amazing gift they had both just received.

"I'm so proud of you, Sam-dear. You did so very well, and now we're a true family."

Frodo's smile grew. Everything would be fine now. Sam had survived the birth, and their daughter was the most perfect being he'd ever laid eyes on. Everything finally fit together, and he suddenly knew where he belong.

The End.


End file.
